


"It's Like Watching Your Little Brother"

by SunOfIcarus



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minecraft, no beta we die like dream on the tracks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunOfIcarus/pseuds/SunOfIcarus
Summary: After hearing Wilbur describe Tommy as a younger brother, I haven't been able to get it out of my head since.A collection of one-shots about Wilbur and Tommy having a sibling dynamic! Nothing inappropriate, and if you comment asking for it I won't hesitate to block you, so like? don't?
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 535
Kudos: 2830





	1. A Ride Home

Tommy taps his fingers on the bench beside him. The air is crisp, hitting his face and making him recoil.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he mumbles, pulling his gloves off to pull his phone out of his backpack. A few snowflakes land on the screen, melting immediately, and he brushes the wetness off of the screen with a huff.

“What the fuck,” Tommy mumbles as he stares at his screen. It’s a message from his father; That he won’t be there to pick Tommy up, as work was running late.

Tommy groans as he places his head in his hands. How the hell is it supposed to get home? He’s already freezing, his house is too far away to walk, and he doesn’t know anyone else who can pick him up.

He scrolls through his contacts before picking one and tugging on his gloves.

The phone rings once, twice. It picks up before the third ring can sound out.

“Hello?” Tubbo’s voice comes through.

“Tubbo,” Tommy says quickly, “You know how it’s absolute shit outside?”

Tubbo gives out a quiet laugh. “It’s only snowing a little bit, Tommy. It’s hardly even that bad-”

“But it’s cold as fuck!” Tommy interrupted. “I’m freezing my ass off out here, and my dad can’t pick me up, apparently. So now I need a ride home.”

“You could just walk.”

“Tubbo, I actually think I’d freeze to death before I even got home. There is no way I’m walking home in this weather.”

Tubbo hums thoughtfully. “Well I’m sorry, Tommy, but I can’t really do anything. Both of my parents are still at work, you know I rode the bus today.”

Tommy groans. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Tubbo?” He complains. He knows he’s being unfair about it, but the cold has been seeping through the clothing he chose to wear today.

“I don’t know! Call someone else!” Tubbo says. “You don’t know anyone else who has a car?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well what about Wilbur?”

Tommy sputters. “I can’t ask Wilbur for a ride home! He lives like, half an hour away. He’s not my dad, Tubbo.”

“So what? I’m sure he’ll be willing to take you.”

“It’s not about that, Tubbo! It’s just- I don’t know,” he waves his hand around vaguely, even though he knows Tubbo can’t see. “It’s just the principle of it. It’s fucking weird.”

Tommy listens to Tubbo sigh from the phone. “Okay, Tommy. I really have to go, though, I got a ton of homework today and if I don’t get started now, I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk later, I guess,” Tommy grumbles as Tubbo hangs up the call.

Tommy considers walking for about a second before a bitter wind blows past. Then he shakes his head and goes through his options.

_ I suppose I could Uber? But I don’t have any money on me, it’s not like I could fucking pay them. Maybe I could walk to a nearby food place and just wait in there? But then I’d have to buy something, and I still don’t have any money. _

He lets out a deep, forlorn sigh. Then he takes off his gloves and scrolls through his contacts yet again.

He’s almost hoping Wilbur doesn’t pick up. That he’ll find some other way to get home without having to bother the older man-

“Tommy? What’s up?”

Tommy almost winces, but the cold surrounding him pushes him forward. “Hey, Wilbur. Listen, bad news. You know how it’s shit outside?”

Tommy hears a laugh through the phone, and starts to get a strong sense of Deja Vu. He shakes his head and pushes it aside.

“Wilbur, I’m serious! It’s so cold outside, I’m practically a fucking icicle by now.”

“Well then, why are you outside still?” Wilbur asks, with a slight hint of the laughing from earlier.

“That’s the problem, Wilbur! My dad couldn’t pick me up from school so now I’m just stuck outside.”

“Didn’t school get out like, an hour ago?”

Tommy feels his face heat up. “I wasn’t paying enough attention to my phone, alright? So can you pick me up or not?”

There’s a split second of silence before a sigh rings out. “Fine, Tommy. But you really need to start checking your phone more often.”

“I was busy, bitch! I didn’t even think about it-”

Tommy stops short as he hears the phone hang up. “Rude,” he mutters, before slumping against the cold bench again.

He’s visibly shivering by the time Wilbur gets there.

“Fucking finally,” Tommy says as he gets up and walks towards the car.

Wilbur laughs as Tommy opens the door and scrambles to get in. “You look like shit!”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Tommy said, stripping out of his wet winter jacket.

“Here,” Wilbur says, tossing him a sweatshirt. “I thought you might need something other than what you have.”

“Ugh,” Tommy says, holding up the sweatshirt in front of him. “Why’d you have to give me the ugliest one?”

“Knew you’d like it!” Wilbur says cheerily. “Now hurry up and buckle, don’t want you home any later than you already are.”

Tommy stops shivering about ten minutes into the drive home. Wilbur makes idle chat, and Tommy talks passionately about anything and everything. The warmth from the vents push towards him, and Wilbur’s sweatshirt, though ugly, is admittedly helping a lot.

They’re at Tommy’s house before he can even think about it. He gathers his backpack, his wet jacket, and his phone.

“Thanks, Wilbur,” he calls out, stepping out of the car. “Sorry I made you drive all the way out here.”

Wilbur shrugs. “It’s no big deal.” Then he smiles, wickedly. “You’ll just owe me a favor sometime in the future!”

“Hey, wait a minute, bitch-” Tommy starts to retort, but Wilbur is already pulling away, laughing the whole way out.

“Asshole,” Tommy murmurs.

He supposes it wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought it would be.


	2. School Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy seems really upset during a stream, and Wilbur takes it upon himself to figure out why.

Tommy had been quiet for the entirety of Wilbur’s stream. He talked, sometimes, but softer and shorter than usual.

And this worried Wilbur immensely.

Tommy was always talking. Wouldn’t shut up, even. Laughing his ass off, yelling at Dream. Hyping Wilbur up or bullying Tubbo. He was never really silent. Always too passionate and hot-headed.

Yet, Tommy mostly kept to himself. Would only follow Wilbur when he told him to. Would laugh, occasionally, but would quickly cut himself off.

The chat seemed to realize something was off too. Asking Wilbur if Tommy was sick, or feeling okay.

“Tommy?” Wilbur finally asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course,” came Tommy’s voice from his headset.

“You sure? You haven’t even swore once this stream.”

Tommy gave a nervous huff. “I’m fine, bitch.”

Wilbur laughed, but only to appease his chat. Something was definitely wrong with Tommy. Not like he could ask him while the stream was going, it would only embarrass him. So instead, he continued to play Minecraft, calculated and careful as he watched the time. Waiting for enough time to pass that, when he ended the stream, it wouldn’t be obvious as to why.

Finally, finally, that time came. Perhaps a bit sooner than necessary, but Wilbur barely entertained the thought. He was quick to say goodbye, trying to appear casual through his speed. He didn’t want Tommy to get nervous and leave, either.

Wilbur sighed as the stream ended. Then, he took a deep breath-

“Alright, well, I should probably be going, Wilbur,” Tommy murmured. “I’ve got homework to finish before the weekend, so-”

“Wait,” Wilbur says quickly. He flinches a bit as his own bluntness, but shakes it off. “Seriously Tommy, are you alright? Are you sick or something?”

“No, no, I’m alright Wilbur.”

“Are you sure? You hardly spoke during today’s stream. You didn’t even laugh at the joke I said earlier,” Wilbur says, trying to lighten the mood.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m fine, I just-” he can hear Tommy take a breath. “Don’t you think that’s, like- annoying?”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. Annoying? Where the hell did that come from?

“Do I think what is annoying?”

“You know, the yelling. And swearing, and stuff.”

There’s a moment of silence as Wilbur tries to decide what to say next. He can hear Tommy shuffle through the headset. Is this why Tommy had shut up for once?

“Tommy,” Wilbur starts, carefully. He feels like he’s walking towards an injured animal. One that, if he startles, might try to run. “Did someone say that to you?”

“I don’t know,” he hears Tommy say, strained. “I guess.”

Wilbur’s heart falls, just a bit. “Did something happen at school?” He says gently.

“I guess,” Tommy says again, his voice cracking at the end.

“Oh, Tommy,” Wilbur says softly. “What happened?”

He hears more shuffling from Tommy’s end. “I- I don’t know, I just- I was just- I was trying to-”

“It’s alright, Tommy, just breathe.” Wilbur’s voice is laced with concern, he can’t help it. He’s never heard Tommy cry, he’s hardly ever heard Tommy do anything aside from passionately speak about everything. It hurts to hear him taking deep breaths before continuing.

“I don’t know, Wilbur,” he finally says weakly. “It’s just not very mature, is it? None of you guys act like that.”

“You’re a child, Tommy, you don’t have to be mature. And besides, we do that all the time. Maybe not as often as you, but it’s hardly an issue.”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles again. Tommy is silent, and Wilbur lets him be. He doesn’t want to pressure him out of talking.

“It’s probably just not very fun for you guys. To have to take care of a kid. Especially one who acts like I do.”

Wilbur grips the arm of his chair. “Is that what someone at school said?” Wilbur asks, trying to keep his voice level. How dare they? How dare they think they know anything about them?

“Yeah,” Tommy says quietly. “But it’s really not a big deal, Wilbur,” he says a bit louder, “It doesn’t really bother me-”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Wilbur says defiantly. “Look, Tommy, I don’t know who the hell is telling you this shit. We don’t have to play with you, Tommy. It’s not like we’re being paid to babysit a kid or anything.”

“Exactly, Wilbur, you guys are basically babysitting-”

“No! We’re not!” Wilbur interrupts. “Tommy, you’re not annoying to be around,” he says, gentler this time. “It doesn’t feel like babysitting. I don’t care when you’re loud, or scream, or whatever the fuck it is you do. I like it, even! It’s funny!” He sighs. “Tommy, it sucks to not see you excited. You’re like a little brother to me. It’s not a burden to hang out with you, or listen to you. It just feels like spending time with a brother to me. And it hurts to know that people have been telling you these things, especially since they’re not true.”

Wilbur wishes he could see Tommy’s face. He’s gone silent.

“Have you told anyone that they were being mean to you?” Wilbur asks quietly.

“No,” Tommy’s voice croaks out.

“Why not?”

Tommy makes a noncommittal sound.

“Tommy? Are you alright?” Wilbur asks again.

“Yeah,” he hears Tommy whisper.

“Are you still upset because you think we’re annoyed by you?”

There’s another short, broken sound: A no, Wilbur thinks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tommy doesn’t say anything. Just sniffles. Then, “No.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.”

Wilbur taps his fingers with concern on his desk. “I think you should tell someone next time, Tommy. They’re going to keep bothering you if you don’t.”

A non-committal hum is heard.

“I’m serious, Tommy. I’m not going to let a bunch of dicks bully my brother into feeling like this.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then a broken, “Thanks, Wilbur.”

Wilbur leans back in his chair, his eyebrows still lowered in sadness. “Of course, Tommy. Do you need anything else?”

“No. I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” It comes out cracked and broken. Wilbur’s heart breaks.

“Call me tomorrow, alright, Tommy? And tell me if they pick on you again.”

Tommy hangs up the call, and Wilbur lets his face rest in his hands.

He hopes he did enough to soothe him for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this one is a bit different from the last one, I suppose I'm just trying a few things out. It's harder to write angst than it is fluff, since it's harder to make things seem in character. A lot of Tommy's way of speaking in this is honestly just how I speak when I'm upset, so like? To be honest don't really know how I feel about this chapter
> 
> Please let me know what you think!! I need feedback in order to know what I'm doing right or wrong, lol. And thanks so much to the people who have already left comments and kudos!! you guys make my day every time


	3. School Fight But With Fists This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets into a fight at school, and calls Wilbur instead of his parents.

Tommy huffs, annoyed, as he grabs more paper towels from the school bathroom. He winces as he bunches them up and holds them up to his nose.

He aches. The fresh bruises on his arms and legs almost burn. There was already a wad of bloody paper towels on the sink edge from his bloody nose. The adrenaline of the whole situation was wearing off, and all he felt was tired. Angry, for fucking sure, but his body was screaming at him to lie down. Perhaps sleep for a short millennia.

With trembling legs, Tommy lowered himself and sat on the ground, leaning against the wall. He was careful not to hit his bleeding knees from where he had tripped.

For a few minutes, that’s how it was. A bruised, bloodied boy, sitting by himself in a bathroom, waiting for the bloody nose to stop.

Tommy’s heart flutters nervously. What the hell was he supposed to do? He certainly couldn’t tell his parents, they’d have a heart attack. Then he would get in trouble, and get grounded, and not be allowed to do streams anymore. So calling his parents was off of the options list, then.

He could call Tubbo. But he didn’t want Tubbo to feel responsible for what happened. It wasn’t  _ his _ fault that those kids were dicks. And if Tommy got into a fight with them to defend Tubbo, so what? No, Tubbo would take it too personally. Would probably panic, which wouldn’t help his situation.

Which left about one man who could help.

Tommy shifts uncomfortably on the cold tile. With one shaking hand (the other still taking care of his bloody nose), he grabs his phone from his backpack.

The ringing of the phone seems to echo through the empty bathroom. Tommy takes this time to pull out more paper towels, throwing away the ones he’s already managed to completely bloody.

“Hello?” Wilbur’s voice echoes through.

“Hey, Wilbur,” Tommy says, trying to sound casual. “Do you think you could pick me up from school?” He looks down at the paper towel. It’s still getting covered in blood quicker than he wishes. “Preferably sooner than later,” he mumbles.

“Did you forget to check your phone again?” Wilbur asks with a chuckle. “Honestly, Tommy, what happens when I can’t pick you up?”

“I didn’t fucking forget!” Tommy says defiantly. “I knew my dad couldn’t pick me up today, I just… missed the bus.” He doesn’t say why. There’s a part of him that’s hopeful that by the time Wilbur picks him up, he’ll be cleaned up. No one will need to know it even happened.

“Well, you’re lucky I’m already nearby, then.”

“Are you?” Shit. “Like, how close?”

“I don’t know, maybe ten minutes?”

_ Well, that’s not fucking good. _

“Well, take your time getting here,” Tommy says, scrambling to get up. “There’s really no rush!”

“Okay? Is there a reason you’re stalling me, or are you just being weird?”

_ FUCK _ , Tommy thinks.

“No! No, I just don’t want to bother you,” Tommy says, trying to subtly grab more paper towels. He throws away the bloodied ones in frustration so he can have a free hand, then lightly turns on the sink so he can wet some paper towels.

“Tommy, we’ve talked about this before,” Wilbur says, suddenly more stern. “You’re not bothering me, Tommy, I’m fine giving you a ride-”

“Not like that, bitch,” Tommy interrupts. “It’s just not an urgent thing. Just come whenever you’re open.”

Wilbur hums. “If you say so. I’m already on my way then.”

Tommy bites his lip to keep from hissing as he wipes the blood away from his knees. “Great!” He says strained. “I’ll see you soon then, bye!” He hangs up before Wilbur can get a chance to say anything else. With his now free hand, he takes a handful of paper towels and presses it against his nose again.

With the blood on his knee wiped away, he can see the bruising, the marks from where he fell. It’s still bleeding, slightly, but Tommy knows he has to move on.

With one hand, he keeps his bloody nose under control. With the other one, he wipes away the rest of the scrapes and bruises.

There’s only five minutes left until Wilbur gets here, so Tommy throws the wet paper away and looks in the mirror.

_ Shit. I still look bloody awful. _

He has a bit of a split lip, something he didn’t notice before. His nose is still bleeding, though less than before. The bruises have started to turn a deeper shade of purple. They run up his arm and down his legs, and he bristles at the small splotches of blood on his shirt.

“Damn it,” he whispers, as he wets more paper towels and rubs it along his shirt. It does nothing for the blood, just makes his shirt a big soggy.

“Damn it!” Tommy growls in frustration. He completely freezes as his phone rings.

_ Please don’t be Wilbur _ , Tommy thinks as he slowly leans over to check the caller ID.

_ Wilbur Soot: Calling. _

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Tommy whispers harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- Hello?”

“I’m here, Tommy, where are you at?”

“I’ll be out in a moment, just give me a second,” he says rushed. He takes one last look in the mirror, fixes his hair, grabs his bag and rushes out the door.

He looks towards the ground as he walks towards Wilbur’s car in a vain attempt to hide his face. His face heats up as he opens the door and enters the car.

“Tommy, have you checked Twitter?” Wilbur says cheerfully. He hasn’t looked at Tommy yet. Instead, he’s staring at his phone with a smile. “Techno tweeted something out earlier, I’m surprised-”

And then Wilbur turns.

It’s a long, dense silence. Tommy can’t make eye contact. He can feel Wilbur’s gaze on his face, but he refuses to look up at him.

“What the fuck.”

Tommy opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He’s speechless, for once in his

life.

“Tommy, what the fuck happened?”

Tommy almost laughs. “What the fuck do you think happened, Wilbur?”

“Jesus, Tommy, you look like shit.”

Tommy chuckles, starts to look up to make a joke, but it dies in his throat. Wilbur is staring at him with an expression that Tommy’s never seen before. He looks pissed. His hand is gripping his phone so tightly that his fingers are white. Eyebrows furrowed and angled, but his eyes wide and dark.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Tommy finally says.

“Jesus christ. Jesus christ, Tommy.”

Tommy feels his face heat up and looks away again.

Without another word, Wilbur shifts the gear and starts driving again. Tommy can see his hands gripping the wheel out of the corner of his eye.

“Wait,” Tommy says, panicked, as he realizes which route they’re taking. “Wilbur, please don’t take me home.”

“Don’t take you home? Are you  _ mental _ ? You’re beat to shit, Tommy, what even happened to you?”

“Wilbur please, my parents will kill me if they see me like this!”

“I’m not kidnapping you because you got into a fight, Tommy-”

“It wasn’t even my fault!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that, Tommy, you haven’t told me shit!”

“Wilbur, please, can I just go to your flat? Just for a little bit!”

Wilbur taps angrily on his steering wheel. “Tommy, if you tell me what the fuck happened, I will take you to my flat for a few minutes. Just to clean up, and then I am dropping you right off at home.”

“That’s fine, just  _ please. _ ”

Wilbur lets out a sigh through a clenched jaw. Yet, he turns around and starts going the other way.

“Alright. What happened, then,” Wilbur asks in a low voice.

Tommy kicks his feet against the bottom of the car. “I didn’t mean to, Wilbur. They were being dicks! They had been mean to Tubbo earlier, and- and I couldn’t just let that slide, you know? So when Tubbo told me about it before school ended, I just decided to stay after. Because they always stay after school, so it was the perfect time to confront those fuckers. So I did, and then one of them pushed me, and I just- I mean I couldn’t let that happen, so I pushed him back, and then- well-” he motioned towards himself. “Obviously it didn’t go very well,” he mumbled.

He hears Wilbur take a deep, shaky breath. “Why, Tommy. You didn’t have to fight, there was no reason-”

“There was, though! They teased Tubbo-”

“You should have told someone, Tommy! A teacher, or, or a supervisor or something. Hell, you could have told me! Christ, Tommy, look at yourself.”

“I don’t think I did anything wrong, Wilbur! I defended my friend, they attacked me!”

“They only attacked you because you went after them!”

Tommy grits his teeth.  _ Well fuck you, Wilbur, maybe I should have just walked home. _ He clenches his fist before immediately flinching. He’s forgotten how much it hurt.

Tommy doesn’t say anything as Wilbur parks outside the flat. He grabs his backpack and walks inside seething. He has to stop himself from flinging the backpack to the floor once he’s inside.

“Come on, Tommy, sit down,” Wilbur says, motioning to his couch.

Tommy sits down and rests his chin in his hand. The position hurts his arm, but he tries not to show it.

“Alright,” said Wilbur, coming out holding a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, some toilet paper, and bandages. “This should be able to clean you up fine, for what we have.” He sits down on the couch, and Tommy scoots further away.

“Tommy. Come on, don’t be difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult! Why do you think I’m being difficult!”

Wilbur stares at him, unentertained. “You  _ asked _ to be here.”

“Cause I was going to get in trouble, otherwise! But now I’m getting in trouble anyway!”

Wilbur groans in frustration. “Because you got into a fight, Tommy, look at yourself! Now stop being annoying for two seconds!”

Tommy recoils. For the first time since the fight, his eyes sting. He slumps back into the chair upset, refusing to look Wilbur in the eye.

He hears a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry.”

“I was just trying to defend Tubbo,” Tommy says quietly.

“I know. I know, Tommy. I’m proud of you for looking after your friend, I am. I just-” Wilbur takes a deep breath. “I wish you wouldn’t get hurt trying to do it. I’m glad that you care about your friends so much, Tommy, I really am. But you shouldn’t have to get beat up in order to protect them.”

Tommy rubs a finger over his bruised knees. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Wilbur leans over and wraps an arm around Tommy. He pulls him to his chest and rests his head on Tommy’s hair.

“You’re a good kid, Tommy. I’m glad that Tubbo has someone like you to defend him.”

Tommy just nods. His bruises ache and his cuts sting, and he doesn’t quite trust himself to respond in such a state.

“We really should get you cleaned up, Tommy. We don’t want any of those cuts to get infected.”

Wilbur helps Tommy clean his injuries, and bandage his scrapes. He helps him check in on Tubbo, and makes sure he knows how to talk to the teachers about the kids tomorrow.

And if Wilbur talks to Tommy’s parents to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble, Tommy doesn’t have to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to start spacing out these uploads more, but I just really wanted to upload this one!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for commenting and giving kudos! I absolutely ADORE reading your guys' comments, it makes me so happy every single time I read them. Let me know what you guys think of this chapter! Feel free to leave any suggestions if you guys have some!


	4. Arcade Time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur and Tommy go to an arcade, before Wilbur loses sight of him
> 
> Inspired by a comment left by @Izar_Laythons ! Thank you so much for the suggestion! I hope I did well enough

Wilbur holds himself with an odd sense of pride as he walks with Tommy into the arcade. Last time, Wilbur had forced Tommy to bring his dad with him. He knew Tommy wouldn’t be super fond of that solution, but it’s not like Wilbur was a legal guardian. This time, however, was different. Tommy’s dad had decided that it would be okay for Wilbur to take Tommy by himself, and Wilbur had hesitantly agreed. He agreed to check in every hour, make sure Tommy didn’t get himself into trouble. Tommy’s dad trusted him, and for some reason, Wilbur’s heart swelled at that. And so, he walks Tommy into the arcade that they had gone to just a few months before.

“Jesus, this place is crowded,” Tommy says, surprised. “Is it a holiday or something?”

“Don’t know what holiday would require groups of people to all go to an arcade.” Wilbur squints across the room as they enter. “Ah! See, Tommy? It’s a birthday,” Wilbur says, pointing towards a banner across the room. “Multiple birthdays, apparently,” he corrects himself, motioning towards the two other banners peaking through the crowds.

“Maybe today wasn’t a very fortunate day to go to the arcade, Wilbur,” Tommy says exasperated. “Are there even going to be any good prizes left?”

Wilbur slaps Tommy on the back. “Of course, Tommy-boy! They’re going to get all the small, lame prizes.  _ We _ are going to get one of the big ones!”

“What if I wanted a spider ring, Wilbur, what then,” Tommy says dejectedly.

“Then you’re a loser, who the hell wants a spider ring?”

Weaving through crowds of people, Wilbur and Tommy check out the arcade. The games, the prize corner (which Tommy seems to linger on for a bit; Probably looking for his spider ring), the small food area. Wilbur smiles. It’s going to be a good day, he can feel it. Even if the arcade is a bit more crowded than he’d prefer, Tommy doesn’t seem to mind.

Though, in typical Tommy fashion, it quickly becomes a competition.

“Wil, I swear to you, I  _ swear, _ that I can beat you at skee-ball.”

“You said that for the last two games! And I beat you both times!”

“This time is different! I’m way better at skee-ball, it was my favorite game as a kid.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Go on, then, Tommy. Show me what you can do.”

Tommy shakes his head. “No, no, you go first. Otherwise I’ll intimidate you too much.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Sure, Tommy.” He puts in a few tokens as the balls roll out. He makes the first two easy shots, determined to get at least a few points, before becoming more bold and going for the smaller cylinders. He makes it a few times, but more bounce off than he’d like. Finally, he’s down to the final shot.

Wilbur picks up a skee-ball and aims it closely towards the small 100 cylinder. Squinting his eyes in concentration, he pulls his arm back before swinging it forward, adding just the right amount of pressure-

“Yes!” Wilbur cheers as the last ball goes straight through the hole. The machine lights flash brightly as the tickets begin to dispense themselves. “See Tommy, this is exactly why I’m a skee-ball expert.” He bends down to pick up the tickets, still pumping out of the machine. “I knew I’d be the best at this. I’d be shocked, honestly shocked, if you beat me-”

Wilbur falters as he stands up and turns around. Tommy has seemingly gone off somewhere, leaving Wilbur to talk to himself.

“Thanks, Tommy,” he mumbles bitterly. With a sigh, he picks up the rest of the tickets, shoves them into his pocket, and moves on.

He strides through the arcade, moving around small children and young adults. Lights flash from different machines and music from each game hums through the air. The multicolored carpet shines in the light, making Wilbur smile. A classic. An arcade without a floor like this would be treason.

He passes a variety of games: The ball drop, basketball, a few classic machines.

Then he passes more games. The ones where you shoot down ducks. Whack-a-Mole. Pinball. Claw machines, coin catchers, racing-

He frowns and slows as he walks by the skee-ball machines. Did he somehow miss him? Tommy does have pretty bad posture, he supposes. He might have blended into a crowd.

The ball drop. Basketball, machines, ducks-

Wilbur stops and takes a moment to spin around.  _ Is Tommy really not here? I wonder if we’re just walking circles around each other. _ He decides to walk slower, just in case.

He passes all of the machines. He passes all of the machines again.

He swallows to ignore the pit growing in his stomach.

He pops into the food area, hoping that Tommy just got peckish and decided to grab something. The place is crowded, filled, but even with all of the people in there, Tommy isn’t one of them. Not that Wilbur can see.

“Shit,” Wilbur whispers to himself. How the hell has he managed to lose a sixteen year old kid?

He pulls out his phone with an annoyed huff.

The phone rings once, twice. It rings until Tommy’s stupid voicemail starts to play.

“Dammit, Tommy,” Wilbur mumbles before dialing again. Yet, just like the first time, it rings out before going to voicemail.

He shouldn’t be worried. Tommy is sixteen, he knows how to take care of himself. He’s old enough to be by himself and be okay.

But Tommy is also still a kid. And semi-famous. Which meant that people could be out there, pestering him. Or making him uncomfortable. Or kidnapping him.

All of which made Wilbur very, very nervous.

“Tommy?” He calls out. But the arcade is still bustling, and he knows he can hardly be heard. Everywhere he turns is a group of kids who could be Tommy, but never is. He’s practically running in circles.

His heart is thumping through his chest, and he’s panicking, he knows it. Calling out Tommy’s name in vain, trying to appear calm to everyone around him. He wipes the sweat off of his palms and onto his jeans.

Tommy could be injured. What would he do if he really had been taken? If someone had grabbed him while Wilbur wasn’t looking, dragged him out, taken him somewhere-

“Tommy!” Wilbur tries, louder than all of the times before. He doesn’t care about embarrassing himself, or even embarrassing Tommy. He needs to find this child. But every blond head isn’t him, and every red sleeve belongs to someone he’s never met.

He pulls his phone out in desperation, wiping his hands off before phoning Tommy again.

“Please, please, Tommy,” Wilbur whispers, “Please pick up. I’m begging you to just pick up-”

“Wilbur!”

He almost drops his phone in surprise. The voice comes from behind him, cheery and enthusiastic.

“Oh, sorry,” Tommy says, apparently picking up on Wilbur’s shock. “Didn’t mean to startle you. But look, I got you some-”

Tommy doesn’t get to finish. He grunts as the older man bashes into him, wrapping his arms around him protectively. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow before he hesitantly raises his arms to return the action. “Is everything alright, Wilbur?” Tommy asks in concern.

“Is everything- No, Tommy! It’s not! Where the hell were you?” Wilbur finally lets go, still gripping onto Tommy’s shoulders.

“The arcade machines? I was trying to win some more tickets-”

“What the fuck, Tommy. You didn’t feel like it was important to tell me that?”

“I wanted to surprise you!”

Wilbur can feel his emotions begin to shift. That deep feeling of fear and concern is starting to mold into a heated anger.

“I’ve been looking for you for the past hour! I thought you had been kidnapped!”

“Has it really been an hour?” Tommy asks. Wilbur can see him swallow. “Really, Wil, I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

Tommy looks at him, startled. “You called me?”

Wilbur could kill him. He really could.

“Yes, Tommy, I did, multiple times! Jesus christ, Tommy, why didn’t you pick up?”

“I didn’t hear it, I swear! Wil, my ringer was even up, it was probably just too loud for me to hear.”

“Why did you run off without telling me?” Wilbur asks, exasperated. “I would have let you if you just told me!”

“I already said, I wanted to surprise you!”  
“What the hell do you mean, surprise me?”

Tommy blinks at him, before hurriedly holding out a large, plush orca whale.

Wilbur doesn’t speak. For a moment, he can’t even speak. He just stares at the plush that Tommy is holding up.

“I saw it when we came in,” Tommy explains. “I thought you would like it, but I wanted it to be, like, a surprise, I guess? Like a gift.” Tommy shifts as Wilbur continues to stare. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Wilbur’s fingers twitch as the anger drains out of him. Tommy is okay. He’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s gotten him a stupid stuffed animal of a big whale.

Wilbur sighs. “You’re an absolute idiot, Tommy, but thank you.” He pulls him in for another quick hug before pulling away. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

When Wilbur gets back to his flat, he glances at the plush before making a decision. He lets the plush sit just out of frame on his streaming desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I am hearing your pleas for a Wilbur-centric chapter, so that will probably be next! Can you tell I'm the needy younger sibling? Lol
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment on how you feel about this chapter! I read all of the comments, and it completely makes my day to read what you guys think. Leave a suggestion, or let me know what I can do better!


	5. A Best Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur has a shitty day, and Tommy makes a plan to fix it
> 
> I was already in the process of writing when they suggested it, but thank you @starstruckroman for the suggestion! I hope I did your idea justice <3

His head _aches._ It’s been aching since he woke up this morning, which should have been the first sign to how shit his day was going to be.

Wilbur woke up late. Late, and with a headache. He had ten minutes until he had to be at a meeting, and it was a fifteen minute drive. He threw on a sweater (a scratchy, uncomfortable one) and ran to the car without even a coffee. His car took a few tries to start. The weather was shit and he went into the meeting soaked. His phone died halfway through. His head hurt, still hurt, during the entire meeting. He bought a coffee once the meeting was over, which he proceeded to immediately spill on himself as he was forced to make a hard break. As he was about to change out of his wet, stained clothes, he realized that it was, in fact, laundry day, and he didn’t have anything to wear. He threw on a filthy hoodie, which was the best he could do at the moment. Tried to take a nap but couldn’t, found out his washer had broken. Made it halfway to his favorite store before remembering that it was closed today. Read some rude comments on his most recent You Laugh, You Lose (is it selling out if people keep asking for it?). Tried, and failed, to record a video for his YouTube channel.

So here he was now, with a splitting headache, holding his head in his hands at his computer desk. He rubs his temples, attempting to soothe himself, but it doesn’t do anything to help. He’s about to get up and leave, attempt to sleep for the second time that evening, when he hears a little song begin to play. Tommy’s calling him on Discord.

For a moment, he considers letting it ring out. Acting like he never heard it. With a sigh, though, he picks up. Tommy could most likely already see that he was active on Discord.

“Hello?” Wilbur says. He can’t keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

“Wilbur!” Tommy calls out, and Wilbur recoils. He can feel his headache getting worse. “I need your help. So I accidentally killed Dream again, right? But I’m shit at negotiating, so I-”

“Tommy,” Wilbur interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I’m really not in the mood right now.”

“Oh,” he hears Tommy say. For a second, there’s just silence. “Are you alright?”

Wilbur sighs. “I’m fine, Tommy. Just been a shit day.”

“Oh,” he says again. Tommy never was good at handling emotions. Has too many of his own, Wilbur thinks.

“Right, well, I’m going to head to bed,” Wilbur says, “Goodnight, Tommy.”

He wastes no time ending the call and leaving his office. He practically collapses onto his bed, desperate for the weight of the blankets to pull him out of this day. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

***

Wilbur wakes up earlier than he did yesterday. Not that he needed to wake up early today, but his phone keeps buzzing and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore. Blinking his eyes open, he groggily holds himself up by the elbows and checks his phone.

_Hey Wilbur!_

_It’s Tubbo, btw, lol_

_I was wondering if you wanted to go out to eat?_

_Like, breakfast_

_You know_

_Sorry for texting so early_

Wilbur almost put the phone down and went back to sleep. But he also didn’t want to leave Tubbo in the dust, so instead he responds with a _yea, sure_ . He pulls himself up and eyes the clothes basket in the corner of the room. _I have to do laundry, tho, so it’ll be a few_ , he adds.

He watches as Tubbo reads the message, starts to respond, and then stops. After a few minutes, Tubbo begins typing again.

_It’s okay! You don’t have to_

_I mean you can if you want_

_Sorry, that’s confusing_

_Do you have to?_

Does he have to? Wilbur drags himself out of bed and looks through his closet. No, he doesn’t have to, he supposes. There’s one or two good shirts in here that he didn’t see yesterday. Not his favorite, by a long shot, but if Tubbo was asking, this breakfast thing must be urgent.

Deciding that he could just do laundry after breakfast, he texts back a no.

Gets dressed, fixes his hair, brushes his teeth, checks his phone-

He’s immediately confused as to why he’s trending on Twitter. His notifications have blown up, too.

Until he sees a clip from a certain Tommyinnit’s stream.

_I’m fine, Tommy, just been a shit day,_ he hears himself say. After he says goodnight and lets himself leave the stream, Tommy sits in silence. Mines a block or two. Then, “Well that’s sort of concerning.” He says it with a chuckle, but Wilbur can tell he’s nervous. “Everyone just be really nice to Wilbur,” he eventually says. “Maybe that’ll make him feel better.”

So that’s why he’s so popular on Twitter right now. Sure enough, his feed is filled with people asking if he’s alright, praising him, even sending him edits of himself. He can feel himself going red. He doesn’t know if he’s embarrassed or exasperated, but he finds himself smiling at it. It was sweet of them, even if it was prompted by Tommy.

But he was going to be late, again, if he didn’t get moving, so he put his phone down and drove to the small cafe near Tubbo’s house.

To Wilbur’s genuine appreciation, the breakfast was nice. Tubbo seemed sort of nervous, at first, but gradually relaxed as the morning went on. He smiles as Tubbo explains something from school. It’s nice, spending time with him. He didn’t get to do it very often. He tucks that into a corner of his brain. _Spend more time with Tubbo._ He’s almost sad when the waiter comes by with a check.

“Together or separate?”

“Together!” Tubbo says quickly. Wilbur frowns, about to get slightly upset that Tubbo didn’t tell him that he was paying for the both of them, when Tubbo pulls out his wallet.

“Hold on, you don’t have to pay for me, Tubbo,” Wilbur says with a slight laugh. “I brought money for this.”

“No, it’s alright!” Tubbo says, already handing the waiter a wad of cash. “Tommy gave me some money for it this morning, so we’re technically splitting-”

“Tommy did?” Wilbur asks, even more confused than he was just five seconds ago. “Why the hell did Tommy give you money?”

Tubbo shrugs with a slight tint to his cheeks. “Just told me to use it to get breakfast,” he says, not making eye contact with Wilbur.

Wilbur furrows his eyebrows in suspicion, but doesn’t say anything.

_What the hell is Tommy up to this time?_

It’s as he’s helping Tubbo figure out the tip that he gets another text. This time, it’s from Philza.

_Hey, do you have a key to your flat that I could borrow?_

_Tommy wants it, for some reason_

_He told me not to tell you, but considering how the situation is different from last time I thought I would let you know directly_

“What the fuck,” Wilbur mumbles to himself.

_why does tommy want my flat key?_

_He told me not to tell you_

_It’s nothing bad, though_

_He’s not going to stream this time._

Wilbur frowns.

_only if you go with him_

_That’s fine_

“Tubbo, what is Tommy up to?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear,” Tubbo says quickly. “Why do you ask?”

“He just asked for my flat key.”

“He- he did?” Tubbo asks, seeming sort of surprised. “He just up and asked you?”

“Well, no, he asked Philza, who then asked me.”

Tubbo hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe he wants to surprise you? Or like, scare you, or something.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes mockingly. “Jesus Christ. I swear to you, Tommy’s going to be the death of me.”

With the thought of Tommy on his mind now, he waves a goodbye to Tubbo and heads out. The drive wasn’t too far from his flat, thank fuck. He can only imagine the havoc Tommy is wreaking on it.

He’s almost to his car when he gets a phone call.

He stops himself from smiling as he steps into the car. “Nikki?”

“Hi, Wil!” She says excitedly. He can feel himself melt into the seat. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Nikki,” he says gently. Not for lack of love, but rather an abundance of it. “Tubbo just took me out for a rather nice breakfast, actually. Paid for it and everything, the lad.”

Nikki laughs, and Wilbur can feel his heart raise slightly. It’s always an absolute joy talking to Nikki.

Such a joy, in fact, that he does it for quite a long time. Upon Nikki’s request, he doesn’t drive home while calling her. She seemed quite nervous that he would crash while distracted, and Wilbur didn’t waste much time trying to persuade her. He was fine sitting in a car for a long time, as long as he was talking to her.

Finally (far too late into the call, Wilbur realizes with embarrassment), Wilbur asks, “Why did you call, Nikki?”

“Oh,” she says softly. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say.”  
Wilbur feels his heart drop a centimeter. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes! Yes, everything is fine. It’s just- well-” Nikki sighs. “Tommy told me not to tell.”

There he is again. Wilbur had forgotten in the rush of talking to Nikki. “That absolute cretin- Tell me what, Nikki?”

“Nothing! I mean, technically nothing,” she says. “He just told me to call you and talk to you for a little bit, so I did.”

“He didn’t give a reason?”  
“I don’t want Tommy to get mad at me,” she says sincerely.

“I just won’t tell Tommy, then. What’s he doing, fucking up my flat?”

“No, he’s not doing anything mean. He’s trying to be helpful.”

“What do you mean, _be helpful?_ ”

He hears Nikki sigh. “I’m not going to tell you, Wil. Just ask Tommy yourself! Don’t tell him I told you, though.”

Wilbur stops himself from groaning. He knows he can’t persuade Nikki otherwise, so he quickly says his goodbyes and starts his cars.

_Looks like Tommy’s been planning something,_ Wilbur thinks. Tommy’s plans were never good, and he doubted that this was going to be any different.

_Probably got another vlog gun. Streaming on my setup, the little shit._

He’s quick to pull in and get out of the car. It’s not that he wants to get Tommy in trouble. He just doesn’t trust him to not get himself in trouble doing stuff like this.

So when Wilbur opens the door to his office and finds it empty, he stops in confusion. Did Tommy already leave? The lights were even off, which was unlike him.

With an almost worse sense of dread, Wilbur heads towards his main room. He didn’t know what business Tommy would have in there, and he almost didn’t want to find out.

He swings the door open, ready to catch Tommy by surprise-

Which, he does, he thinks. He also finds himself surprised.

Tommy freezes over a basket of clothes. There’s a small pile folded next to him, which Wilbur identifies as his own. Tommy’s in the middle of folding his yellow sweater, or at least doing his best. Philza is there, just like Wilbur had instructed, though he’s sitting at the edge of the couch staring at his phone (now staring at Wilbur).

“Damn,” Tommy finally says, sounding frustrated. “I was hoping Nikki would hold you off for longer.”

“What the fuck is all this?” Wilbur finally says, his voice coming back to him.

Tommy shrugs, looking towards the clothes in front of him. “I mean, you mentioned yesterday that you were having a bad day, so I just thought I’d help out a little.”

Wilbur almost lets out a laugh. It’s absurd, an absolutely absurd thought. He feels almost like he’s lost his mind.

“So you break into my house and wash my clothes?”

“I didn’t break in! Philza gave me the key!” Tommy crosses his arms nervously. “You could have done with telling me that your washer was broke, though, had to drive it to the laundromat down the street-”

“Tommy,” Wilbur interrupts. “How the hell did you even know about this?”

“Well, originally I was going to just decorate your flat, you know? With balloons, or whatever the fuck. But Tubbo told me that you had to do laundry, so I decided it would probably be more beneficial if I just did that.”

Wilbur can’t do anything but just stare at Tommy in disbelief. “Did you tell Tubbo to take me to breakfast this morning?”

He can see Tommy’s face getting red. “Sort of? I gave him money and told him to keep you busy, so the breakfast idea was actually Tubbo’s.”

“Oh,” Wilbur says, gently. “Oh, Tommy.” His heart twists in his chest, a mix of pride and confusion and joy. “Why did you do all of this?”

Tommy shrugs. “You said your day yesterday was shitty, and my mum usually helps clean my room when I’m feeling down, so I guess I just thought it might help you.”

Wilbur’s heart swells. It could pop out of his chest, it really could. He smiles as he wraps Tommy into a hug. Tommy, who worked so hard to make this day better than before.

A much, much better day than before.

He falls asleep easily that night, wearing his favorite, clean, sweater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this? Any good? As the younger sibling, I can never really tell if I'm doing Wilbur justice or not. Along those lines, if you want more Wilbur centric chapters I highly recommend commenting what you want to see! I could do greatly with the help, lol.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments, kudos, or whatever else you'd like! I always read them, and they make me so, so happy. They can be general comments, criticism, or suggestions! I will happily take anything given to me.
> 
> Stay hydrated, everyone! Thank you guys so much for reading!


	6. Biological

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur and Tommy get into a fight, which brings into question brotherhood for both of them.

“Tommy, you can’t keep doing this,” Wilbur says frustrated.

“Doing what? I’m not even doing anything!”

It was hot in Wilbur’s car. Too fucking hot. But his air conditioner was broken, and if he rolled down the windows, the papers Tommy put down on his dashboard would blow away. He could feel his legs stick to the hot leather beneath him.

“You are, Tommy, otherwise I wouldn’t fucking be here.”

Why is it so fucking hot? He’s steaming, honestly, and as tempted as he is to force Tommy to put away the papers, they’re a part of the current problem.

“Wil, I’m doing my best. If my teacher wasn’t so shit, I would have gotten a better score-”

Wilbur laughs; He can’t stop himself. It’s not humorous, or even remotely funny. It’s a grim laugh that erupts from deep within his throat, bubbling out of him like water that’s been left on the pot for too long.

“I don’t see how it’s your teacher’s fault,” he says, cutting his own laughter short. “You’re not even in class half of the time. The amount of times I’ve had to pick you up from the principal’s office, just this month, even-”

“That’s hardly my fault, either! She’s a prick, she’ll send me to the office for no reason at all.”

Why did it have to be hot, today? Maybe Wilbur would be more prepared for this conversation if he didn’t feel like he was going to die of heat stroke.

“Is that it, Tommy? Because they give  _ me _ a reason every time I’m forced to leave my own flat and pick you up.”

“Those reasons are bullshit, Wilbur! They’re all just shitty excuses because she hates me-”

“Tommy,” Wilbur says, low and harsh. “It really doesn’t matter whether the reasons are good or not. You’re failing your tests, getting into fights- what the hell is happening, Tommy?”

He doesn’t need to look at Tommy to feel the glare he’s getting. He chooses to stare at the wavering pavement ahead.

“Nothing is happening! Why are you on their side?”

“Because if I’m not on their side, you’re going to continue to get in trouble. It’s not that hard to just sit and shut up in a classroom, Tommy, or walk away when someone disagrees with you.”

“Why do you even care?” Tommy snarls back. “You don’t  _ have _ to pick me up, this doesn’t even fucking concern you.”

“Does it not, Tommy? Does it not?” Wilbur’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly, he doesn’t know if it’ll let him go when he stops the car. The sweat is dripping off of his hands and onto the leather. “Because your parents certainly seem to think it does! They’ve already talked with me about your streaming. If you don’t get your act together, you’re going to get it taken away from you-”

“So what? You can’t fucking tell me how to fix that.” Tommy’s practically growling, yelling at him. The sun is in Wilbur’s eyes. He forgot his sunglasses at home.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, Tommy! Because then you’ll turn right around and complain to me. Your parents asked for my help, so I’m trying to teach you before you get in actual trouble-”

“Why do they need your help? We don’t need your fucking help!”

“I don’t know, Tommy! But they certainly seem to think  _ you _ do!”

Finally, out of his own accord, Tommy reaches forward and yanks his papers off of the dashboard. He’s violently shoving them into his backpack, but Wilbur can’t quite bring himself to care. Not until he hears Tommy say, “You’re not actually my brother, Wilbur, get over it! You’re not actually family, so I don’t need your fucking help!”

He almost stops the car. He almost turns and yells at Tommy. He almost screams at him, just to have a good, proper fight.

Instead, he turns the car into a parking lot. And he sits there for a good, long time.

Wilbur doesn’t say anything. Tommy doesn’t say anything. They don’t look at each other, or make any movements.

It’s too fucking hot. Yet Wilbur can’t bring himself to roll down the window. He takes a deep, shaky breath. Then he shifts gears, pulls out of the parking lot, and drives the few minutes left to Tommy’s house.

None of them speak.

Tommy doesn’t say a word as he opens the car door and steps out. Neither does Wilbur. Tommy grabs his bag and slams the door shut without looking at Wilbur. Wilbur pulls out without waiting to see if Tommy makes it inside.

It’s hot. He still doesn’t roll down the windows.

His fists clench as he exits the car and walks into his flat.

His head hurts. How dare Tommy? After everything he’s done for him, how dare Tommy say that? Act like his kindness is useless, that his concern is uncalled for?

His head hurts. He’s pacing, clenching and unclenching his fist, his- his-

His heart hurts. His eyes sting. There’s a slight lump in his throat, one that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter how many times he swallows.

His heart shouldn’t ache this much, should it? He knows. He knows he’s not a biological brother to Tommy, he knows that family bonds don’t have to go both ways, and yet-

He had hoped it did. That Tommy saw the same little family that Wilbur did. That maybe Wilbur had done a good enough job that Tommy would see him as an older sibling; A protector, of sorts.

He supposes he never did.

He doesn’t bother changing, or making food, or even checking the time. Filled with a rage, slowly morphing into a melancholy sadness, he lays down and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t mean to sleep.

He does anyway.

***

A day passes. Then two. Then seven.

He hasn’t gotten any messages from Tommy, or his parents. He hasn’t even gotten a message from Tubbo, surprisingly. Also surprisingly, Tommy doesn’t stream. He got in trouble, Wilbur supposes. Though it does concern him that Tommy didn’t tweet anything out about it.

He tries to show himself the positives. He doesn’t have to subconsciously clear his schedule near the end of the school day, anymore. He doesn’t have to worry about Tommy going to the office, or his parents reaching out and asking Wilbur to please, help Tommy out, because Tommy looks up to him and maybe he’ll listen.

He worries anyway. Even if he tells himself he doesn’t.

He streams a video, but not minecraft. He’s too worried that people will begin to ask him where Tommy’s been. Something he doesn’t have an answer to.

It’s a rainy day, nine days later, when he gets a text from Tommy. Asking if Wilbur can pick him up from his house, and drive around for a while. Wilbur considers saying no, just to spite him. It’s getting into the evening, anyway, and just because it’s a Saturday doesn’t mean that he should be taking a sixteen year old kid out (with no familiar relations to him, at that) this close to night.

He asks if his parents said he could.

Tommy says yes.

He looks out the window. It’s not dark, necessarily. It just looks dark because of the clouds. It’s about supper time, though. He hasn’t even eaten yet, he was going to in a matter of minutes.

He says yes in return.

He taps his fingers anxiously against the wheel as he pulls into Tommy’s drive thirty minutes later. His eyebrows are set in a stern line, but he’s not trying to look friendly.

Tommy must see it as he gets into the car. He doesn’t say anything, aside from a quiet, “Thanks, Wilbur.”

The rain starts gently pattering on the glass as he pulls out. “Where are you going?” Wilbur asks. He realizes he didn’t think to figure that out earlier.

“Oh, uh, nowhere. Nowhere specific, anyway. If that’s okay.”

Wilbur doesn’t say anything. Just takes a deep breath before continuing to drive.

The gentle rain doesn’t do much to relax his heart. Is he anxious? He thinks he’s anxious. His heart is twisting in his chest, and it hurts, slightly. The lump in his throat has made another appearance.

He listens to Tommy shift, before he clears his throat. “I, uh. I got an 85 on my most recent maths exam.”

“Oh,” Wilbur says, unsure of how to move forward. “That’s good.”

They dip into another silence.

“And- and I’ve stayed in class all week. I never got sent home.”

Wilbur nods. He doesn’t want to say anything. In this moment of quiet, where the only sounds are the rain and the only thing he can see are the grey clouds from the window, he’s afraid. Afraid that it’ll go back to that hot day from before. That it’ll be snarls and yelling and red marks on papers.

Tommy shifts uncomfortably again. Then, a quiet, “Are you mad at me, Wilbur?”

Wilbur holds his breath. He forces himself to sigh, to let the oxygen circulate through his lungs.

“I don’t know,” Wilbur says honestly. “It’s not that I’m mad at you, I’m just- I’m just hurt, Tommy.”

Tommy makes a weak, non-committal sound next to him. Wilbur turns his head slightly to ask Tommy a question, but pauses. He can see Tommy in the reflection of the window, and he looks like he’s about to cry. Eyebrows furrowed and shoulders hunched forward.

Wilbur takes a deep breath and finds an empty parking lot. He pulls in and parks the car.

They’re both silent. Tommy seems to be focusing on not crying, while Wilbur tries to think of what to say. How to word things in just the right way that Tommy won’t get upset. That he’ll understand, but not feel pressured.

“I know school is hard for you, Tommy,” Wilbur finally starts. He hesitates, thinking carefully about his next sentence. “And I understand. I wasn’t trying to make it seem like you were making things hard on purpose. I know that some of those teachers can be absolute dicks.”

Tommy doesn’t look at him. Just simply nods. Wilbur takes this as a sign to continue.

“You’re doing your best. I know that, Tommy. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t think that. I just- I don’t want you to get in trouble. Or get hurt, or- or-” He slumps back in his seat. “I don’t know,” he admits, quietly. “I was trying to make sure you knew how important this was. I wasn’t trying to imply that you were a bad kid, or some sort of misfit.”

Tommy nods again. Wilbur goes silent, electing to stare out the window at the falling rain. It hurts. It still hurts, because Wilbur isn’t done, and he knows that.

“I’m sorry if I was pushing the brother label on you, Tommy. That was irresponsible of me. I should have made sure-”

“You are, though,” Tommy finally says, his voice wavering and weak. “You are like a brother, but I keep messing stuff up, and I don’t know if you still care about me-”

“Of course I care about you, Tommy,” Wilbur says softly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Tommy shrugs. He wipes his face, and Wilbur pretends not to notice. “I didn’t want to disappoint you, but I always get in trouble, and I didn’t- I didn’t know-”

His voice cracks and he stops speaking. He turns away, but Wilbur can still see the slight shake to his shoulders.

“Tommy,” Wilbur says gently. “You haven’t disappointed me. I’m worried for you, not disappointed in you.”

Tommy shrugs. “But I’ve been really mean to you,” he says, his voice sounding wretched. Wilbur’s heart wrenches, but Tommy continues. “And you’ve been really nice, and you pick me up from school, and- and help me stream, and I can’t do any of that for you-”

Wilbur reaches out a hand and places it on one of his shoulders. “That’s alright. Hey, that’s alright.” He smiles encouragingly. “Can you look at me, Tommy?”

Hesitantly, Tommy lifts his head up and makes eye contact with Wilbur.

“There we are,” Wilbur says kindly. “Do you want a hug?”

He watches Tommy’s eyes fill with water, but he nods and Wilbur reaches across the center console and wraps his arms around him.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whimpers.

“That’s alright. That’s alright, Tommy.”

“Am I still your younger brother?” He asks, quietly and weakly.

Wilbur hugs him closer, the lump in his throat gone. His heart is slowly settling in his chest, warm even with the rain outside.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course you are, Tommy.”

The two men, the two boys, the two brothers, sat, embraced in one another.

And there they would stay until the tears went away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone be interested in a part 2 of this specific storyline from Tommy's pov? Also, sorry, I tried making this more Wilbur centric but honestly I think it warped into Tommy again
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I wrote this all in one day, today, in an attempt to not do my college/AP Chem work, so I apologize if there's a few mistakes in there
> 
> Love you all! Thank you so much for your support!


	7. Biological: Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Wilbur gets into a fight, and of course, Tommy doesn't think about what he's going to say before he says it.
> 
> He's only a child, after all.

Tommy digs his nails into his arms where they’re crossed. The silence is thick. The only sounds made are the papers being rustled from where Wilbur sits next to him. He slumps further into the seat.

“Mr. Soot,” the principal says with a sigh. “I’m sure you’ve realized how frequent these visits have become.”

Wilbur clears his throat. “Yes, I- I have.”

The principal leans over and takes the papers out of his hands. “As you can see, Mr. Soot, he’s not doing well in classes. Being disruptive, picking fights, failing his tests- He can’t continue like this.”

“I know. I know.” His voice sounds strained.

Tommy grits his teeth. He refuses to look up, at either Wilbur or his principal. And that damn clock. He can hear it ticking away anytime one of them lapses into silence.

“We’re doing the best we can with him, Mr. Soot. But if he keeps being a problem child-” Tommy raises his head at this, “we’re going to have to start taking extreme measures.”

“ _ Problem child? _ ” Tommy bristles. “I’m not a-”

“Tommy,” Wilbur interjects harshly.

“Wilbur! I haven’t even done anything wrong, come on-”

“ _ Tommy, _ ” Wilbur says stiffly. “Hush.”

Tommy slumps back into his seat, his face heated. He digs his nails further into his skin.

“I understand that his parents weren’t able to come, so I won’t give you the whole spiel, Mr. Soot. I appreciate your willingness to pick him up early. Again.”

“Of course. Thank you for calling me.” He hears Wilbur’s chair scooch back. “Tommy. Come on.”

Tommy angrily grabs his backpack off of the floor. He doesn’t bother putting it on, just holding it in his clenched fists as he takes a step back-

“Tommy?

He turns red-faced towards his principal.

“Take these papers. Your parents will want to see.”

He snatches them out of his hands and marches out the door.

“Tommy!” Wilbur calls after him. He doesn’t turn around. He can already see Wilbur’s car in the parking lot, so he continues to walk towards it.

It’s hot before he gets into the car. Why is it even fucking worse when he gets in?

He’s already sweating within the minute it takes for Wilbur to get into the car. Which only serves to worsen his mood.

He doesn’t look at Wilbur as he reaches over and takes the papers from Tommy’s hand. 

There’s a few more rustling sounds. Why the hell isn’t Wilbur starting the car? He’s sweating his ass off.

Finally, way too fucking late, in Tommy’s opinion, Wilbur places the papers on the dashboard and starts the car. He still doesn’t roll down the windows, much to Tommy’s rising displeasure.

“Tommy, you can’t keep doing this.”

Tommy’s jaw is starting to hurt from gritting his teeth so much. “Doing what? I’m not even doing anything!’

“You are, Tommy, otherwise I wouldn’t fucking be here,” Wilbur responds, his voice low.

Why the fuck is it so hot? He’s losing his fucking mind. “Wil, I’m doing my best. If my teacher wasn’t so shit, I would have gotten a better score-”

Wilbur laughs at that.  _ Laughs. _ Tommy can feel his heart start to beat harder, his eyebrows twitching in irritation.

“I don’t see how it’s your teacher’s fault,” Wilbur finally says. “You’re not even in class half of the time. The amount of times I’ve had to pick you up from the principal’s office, just this month, even-”

“That’s hardly my fault, either! She’s a prick, she’ll send me to the office for no reason at all.” God, Tommy’s pissed. His arms hurt from where he dug his nails into them earlier, but at this very moment he’s considering doing it again.

“Is that it, Tommy? Because they give  _ me _ a reason every time I’m forced to leave my own flat and pick you up.”

“Those reasons are bullshit, Wilbur! They’re all just shitty excuses because she hates me-”

“Tommy,” Wilbur says sharply, and Tommy almost flinches. “It really doesn’t matter whether the reasons are good or not. You’re failing your tests, getting into fights- what the hell is happening, Tommy?”

It’s so fucking hot. That’s why he’s breathing heavy, he tells himself. That’s why it’s harder to breathe than usual.

“Nothing is happening! Why are you on their side?”

“Because if I’m not on their side, you’re going to continue to get in trouble. It’s not that hard to just sit and shut up in a classroom, Tommy, or walk away when someone disagrees with you.”

He’s surrounded. He’s so fucking hot, and his head hurts, and he feels surrounded- Why does he feel surrounded? “Why do you even care? You don’t  _ have _ to pick me up, this doesn’t even fucking concern you.”

It’s just Wilbur, it’s just Wilbur-

“Does it not, Tommy? Does it not?” Wilbur’s voice keeps raising, steadily but surely. It’s suffocating. The heat, and the sounds, and the lack of space he has in the front. “Because your parents certainly seem to think it does! They’ve already talked with me about your streaming. If you don’t get your act together, you’re going to get it taken away from you-”

“So what? You can’t fucking tell me how to fix that.” He’s growling, he’s acutely aware of the fact, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, Tommy! Because then you’ll turn right around and complain to me. Your parents asked for my help, so I’m trying to teach you before you get in actual trouble-”

“Why do they need your help? We don’t need your fucking help!”

“I don’t know, Tommy! But they certainly seem to think  _ you _ do!”

It was like something snapped. Tommy didn’t know what he felt, but he felt a lot of it. A whole fucking lot of it. He reaches forward and grabs the papers off of the dashboard, desperate to get the bright red marks out of his sight. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s trying to ignore the slight shaking of his hand, the suffocating feeling, being surrounded, completely surrounded-

“You’re not actually my brother, Wilbur, get over it! You’re not actually family, so I don’t need your fucking help!”

The car almost halts, but quickly goes back to pace. Tommy swallows as the car slows and turns into a parking lot.

He refuses to look at Wilbur, but he also doesn’t feel Wilbur’s eyes on him.

The sun is beaming into his eyes, which is why his eyes are watering, or so he tells himself. It’s suffocating, but less than before. He doesn’t feel surrounded, anymore, just pissed. And… something else. But he hasn’t figured out what that something else is yet.

He continues to stare out the window as Wilbur shifts gears and pulls out of the parking lot.

He’s digging his nails into his skin again, if only to keep himself quiet, to stop his hands from shaking.

He practically throws himself out of the car. He can’t bring himself to wince as he slams the car door shut and throws his house door open.

Tommy takes the steps upstairs two at a time. His heart is still pounding, and he needs to get the fuck out-

“Fuck,” he mumbles, entering his bedroom. “ _ Fuck! _ ” He throws his bag to the ground, frantically pressing his hands against his eyes.

_ Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry- _

If Wilbur wasn’t such a dick, this wouldn’t be a problem. Why couldn’t he just fucking understand? It’s not his fault that school was such shit, that his teachers hated him, that he didn’t understand his work, he didn’t- he didn’t-

It hits him like a wave. If earlier was a band stretching until it broke, this felt like drowning. Like he had slammed into a wall of water, and suddenly can’t swim up.

He can’t stop himself, not for lack of trying. He sinks to the floor with trembling shoulders, curling his knees close to his chest. He still won’t cry, he refuses to let himself fail at that too.

God. Wilbur probably thought he was pathetic. Failing easy tests that Wilbur probably aced when he was in school, can’t even stand up for himself without getting into trouble-

He gasps.

“I told Wilbur he wasn’t my brother,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

He had ruined it. Wilbur wouldn’t think of him as a brother anymore, if he even had in a long time. You’re supposed to be proud of brothers, and with how badly he’s failing, he doubts he’s meeting that bar. Nobody wants to be siblings with a failure. And even if Wilbur had thought of him as a brother, well-

He had certainly ruined that.

He almost doesn’t hear the knock at his door.

“Tommy? Are you alright in there?”

Tommy slowly and clumsily gets up. When he opens the door, his mum is there, raising her hand as though she were about to knock again.

“Jesus, Tommy, are you alright?”

He shakes his head. It’s all he can do. He can feel his face getting damp, and he hates, hates himself for it.

“What happened, love?”

She reaches forward to pull him into a hug, and with the last bit of will, Tommy says weakly, “I think I messed things up with Wilbur-”

It’s all he can get out before he’s crying. His mum holds him, strokes his hair, mumbles encouragement and support.

Tommy lets it happen.

***

“Are you sure you’re doing alright, Tommy?” Tubbo asks, attempting to subtly lean over towards Tommy’s desk. The entire class is talking, but Tubbo still asks as though trying to not let anyone overhear. Good man.

Tommy lets out a sigh. “I’m fine, Tubbo.”

He doesn’t seem content with that answer, to no surprise of Tommy. Tubbo’s been pestering him all day about this, and no matter what Tommy says, he still asks.

“Well, maybe we should do something tonight. Do you want to stream, or-”

“No,” Tommy says quickly, and Tubbo narrows his eyes.

_ Why is this bitch doing fucking detective work? _

“Fine, Tubbo,” Tommy mumbles. “I had a fight with Wilbur yesterday.”

“With Wilbur?” Tubbo says, surprised. “Is it because you went to the office again-”

“Yes, Tubbo, no shit. I don’t know what else we would have argued about.”

Tubbo frowns and slumps back into his chair. “Is that why you’re being so quiet today?”

He shrugs. “Sort of? Look, I just-” he looks at Tubbo in desperation, almost hoping that he wouldn’t be interested, but Tubbo is looking at him as attentive as ever. “I don’t want to get in trouble again. Because then I get kicked out, and then Wilbur finds out, and I don’t want to make him upset.”

Tubbo’s frown deepens in thought. “I guess. I don’t see why that means you can’t stream.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Tommy mumbles back. He was willing to admit some things to Tubbo, but that was not one of them. He could feel his face going red at even the thought.

He didn’t want Wilbur to see him streaming. Or, God forbid, join him on the stream. It felt wrong, somehow.

He doesn’t have time to think about that more as Tubbo begins speaking. “What’s the plan then, Tommy?”

He looks down at the sheet in front of him. Scribbled notes, equations and numbers written and rewritten on each of the lines.

“Study, I guess.”

***

He stares anxiously at the red pen on his most recent maths exam. An 85. Impressive, considering Tommy’s other tests, but he wasn’t certain if it would get him into Wilbur’s good graces.

Though, he had managed to stay out of trouble for the whole week, which, maybe combined with the test score, would make it good enough.

He spends a good five minutes convincing himself to pick up the phone.

He texts Wilbur, asking to drive around. He hardly hits send before he’s up again, pacing anxiously around the room. What if Wilbur says no? What if he doesn’t respond at all? His stomach is starting to twist, and he’s digging his nails into his arms again-

His phone buzzes and he freezes. He almost can’t bring himself to pick up the phone-

He does anyway. It’s Wilbur, of course. Asking him if he got his parent’s permission. He replies yes. His parents had seemed hesitant, at first, but upon telling them that it would be Wilbur driving him, they seemed to understand. Checked with him that he would be okay, which Tommy vehemently said that he would be. He wasn’t so sure about that, anymore.

He responds with a simple yes. Would that be enough? He starts typing more, but quickly stops himself. He doesn’t want to make it look like he’s overthinking. Does Wilbur need more convincing, though? Maybe he should type a little bit more, just to assure him that it’s okay-

His phone buzzes while he’s still thinking, displaying Wilbur’s text of confirmation.

He just has to wait, then. And so he does. For thirty minutes, he sits at the edge of his bed, fidgeting with the covers and straightening his test. He’ll have to bring it with him to show Wilbur as proof. Maybe if it looks extra nice, Wilbur will see that he tried extra hard. At the very least, it’ll look more appealing. 

Tommy can’t decide if the thirty minutes passed too quickly or too slow. He feels like he didn’t have nearly enough time to prepare, but also like the universe was forcing him to wait for his inevitable doom.

Yet he hears Wilbur’s car pull into his driveway through his open window. He puts on shoes as fast as he can and walks out the door.

Wilbur doesn’t look happy- not a great start. Not that he looks mad, necessarily. Upset? Annoyed? Tommy can’t quite decide.

“Thanks, Wilbur,” Tommy says quietly as he steps into the car. It’s rainy, which sets him on edge. It feels like a bad omen on how the rest of the night is going to go.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, uh, nowhere. Nowhere specific, anyway. If that’s okay.”

Wilbur doesn’t say anything, and the twisting in Tommy’s stomach gets worse. Is he upset that he had to drive Tommy around? It’s not like he had to, but maybe it’s the fact that Tommy asked in the first place-

He takes a deep breath.

_ Come on, Tommy, focus. You have a plan here. _

It starts to rain, slightly. Tommy takes it as a sign to continue.

“I, uh. I got an 85 on my most recent maths exam.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

_ Well shit. _ Tommy shifts uncomfortably. Was it not good enough? He couldn’t tell if Wilbur was happy about it or not, he sounded too impassive.

“And- and I’ve stayed in class all week. I never got sent home.”

Wilbur doesn’t even bother responding to this one. Just nods.

Tommy feels sick. Physically ill. This isn’t going anything like how he hoped, or even how he had expected. It was a weird middle ground, where instead of him being happy, or even upset, he just seemed… quiet. He picks at his fingernails.

“Are you mad at me, Wilbur?” He finally asks. He knows there’s no point in working around it. He doesn’t feel surrounded, this time. Just terribly, terribly isolated. And if Wilbur is going to be upset with him, he’d rather know it to be true, than to constantly wonder.

He hears Wilbur sigh. “I don’t know. It’s not that I’m mad at you, I’m just- I’m just hurt, Tommy.”

And oh, how that’s so much worse. Tommy can feel his eyes begin to sting, so he quickly looks away. He could work with upset, he could work with disappointment- but what the hell was he supposed to do about hurting someone? And that always seemed so much deeper, he wasn’t even sure if he could do anything about it.

His breath catches for a moment as Wilbur turns into an empty parking lot. It’s too similar to the last day. Right up to the silence they both find themselves in. He’s biting the inside of his lip, staring harshly out the window to stop himself from crying.

“I know school is hard for you, Tommy,” Wilbur says, interrupting the silence and making Tommy flinch. “And I understand. I wasn’t trying to make it seem like you were making things hard on purpose. I know that some of those teachers can be absolute dicks.

“You’re doing your best. I know that, Tommy. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t think that. I just- I don’t want you to get in trouble. Or get hurt, or- or-” He hears Wilbur shift. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “I was trying to make sure you knew how important this was. I wasn’t trying to imply that you were a bad kid, or some sort of misfit.”

Nodding is all Tommy can do. He can feel the lump in his throat, and he knows that if he speaks it’ll come out all wrong. He can’t cry, he can’t cry now. But Wilbur has stopped speaking, and it’s all Tommy can do to focus on his breathing.

“I’m sorry if I was pushing the brother label on you, Tommy. That was irresponsible of me. I should have made sure-”

“You are, though,” Tommy interrupts, and he hates the way his voice sounds. Weak, and pathetic. “You are like a brother, but I keep messing stuff up, and I don’t know if you still care about me-”

“Of course I care about you, Tommy,” Wilbur says softly, too softly, and Tommy can feel tears start to run down his face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you, but I always get in trouble, and I didn’t- I didn’t know-”

The tears get too much, and his voice cracks. He stops talking. He can feel his face heat up as he turns away from Wilbur.

_ This is embarrassing. Crying like a fucking child- _

“Tommy,” Wilbur says gently. “You haven’t disappointed me. I’m worried for you, not disappointed in you.”

He shakes his head slightly in irritation. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand-

“But I’ve been really mean to you,” he says, and his voice sounds absolutely terrible. He has to get Wilbur to understand though, understand why he should be upset with him. “And you’ve been really nice, and you pick me up from school, and- and help me stream, and I can’t do any of that for you-”

He stops as he feels Wilbur place a warm hand on his shoulder. It’s such a strong contrast from the beating rain outside, the slight chill that ran through the car from the grey clouds.

“That’s alright. Hey, that’s alright,” Wilbur says. “Can you look at me, Tommy?”

He doesn’t want to, he’s scared to, but he does it anyway.

“There we are,” Wilbur says, and his smile is so, so gentle. “Do you want a hug?”

Goddammit, he was going to cry again. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. He nods, weakly, before Wilbur reaches over and wraps him into a protective hug.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright. That’s alright, Tommy.”

He swallows hard. He doesn’t want to ruin the improvement they’ve seemed to have made, but he had to know.

“Am I still your younger brother?”

Wilbur’s arms tighten around him. “Yeah. Yeah, of course you are, Tommy.”

It’s all Tommy needed to hear before he starts crying again. Out of grief, or relief, he can’t decide.

Wilbur, his older brother, holds him through it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know which part you liked better! Did this one live up to the hype? Would it have been better to just leave it at a part 1? Let me know your opinions!
> 
> I'm not sure how in character Tommy is in this chapter, to be honest. I really just tried to remember that he's a kid, and kids tend to overthink things far more than adults do-one of the reasons he takes so many things so seriously in this chapter.
> 
> Also, reading comments that this is their comfort fic brings me so much joy. It's one of the reasons I make sure that each chapter has a happy ending- because it's always nice to see situations end peacefully.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and kudos! Suggestions, criticism, general comments- I read every single one of them, and appreciate every single one of you who take time to do so. Love you all!


	8. There's Other People, You Selfish Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur takes joking around with Tommy a bit too far, and Tommy breaks down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggestion by @starstruckroman (again, lol. What can I say, their ideas are impeccable)!

Tommy had hoped that streaming would make him feel better.

He liked streaming! He got to hang out with his friends, have fun, and make content all at the same time.

So even if he was feeling upset today, that was… fine. Just because people at school had been mean again, didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy himself with his friends.

Just because they had called him annoying, and bothersome, and a waste of space, and pitiful, didn’t mean… didn’t mean…

Well. He decided to stream.

“Hey, guys, I just thought-”

“Techno, I think if you get some jungle wood we could really bring the whole place together.”

Tommy bit his lip. It was a bit, he knew it. Pretend as though they couldn’t hear him.

It was just a bit.

“Wilbur, jungle wood would look so shit. Spruce is literally right outside.”

Tommy tries again. “Well, I think it would be nice if we got-”

“You’re so wrong, man, you’re so wrong.”

“Guys, I think we should get-”

“I am never wrong, Wilbur. Spruce will look way fucking better.”

He frowns. Did they normally ignore him for this long?

“Am I muted?”

“-blade, you think you’re so much better than me. You’re not a fucking exterior designer-”

“You’re not either, what the fuck. Spruce will be so much easier to get, just-”

“Hello? Can you guys hear me?” Tommy tries again. Techno and Wilbur continue bickering.

Maybe he really had been muted. On accident, of course. The conversation about wood had been going on for longer than Tommy would like to admit, and they hadn’t seemed to have heard him for any of it.

_ LOL, theyre ignoring tommy _

_ Tommy they can hear you, they just dont care _

_ Youre not muted tommy _

Tommy glances at his chat and bites his inner lip again.

_ They have to be wrong. They wouldn’t ignore me for this long. _

He opens Twitch to Wilbur’s stream.

“Hello?”

And he hears himself say it, right through Wilbur’s stream.

A sudden stinging overtakes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, before rubbing at them harshly.

_ They’re joking, they’re just joking. Don’t be so fucking overdramatic. _

“Guys, come on, I know I’m not muted.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Wilbur says, and Tommy can’t stop himself from sighing.

“You both are bitches, you know that?”

Neither Techno nor Wilbur answer. He watches his screen, still open to Wilbur’s stream.

He watches Wilbur finally respond to him. And then he watches Wilbur mute him.

“What the fuck?” Tommy asks, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

Not that it has any reason to waver. Not that he’s upset.

“Did you mute Tommy?” He hears Techno ask.

“Yea, I did,” Wilbur responds, and both of them laugh. Tommy tries to ignore the lump that’s beginning to form in his throat. “He was giving me a bloody headache, I just needed a break.”

_ Wil, come on, unmute me _ , Tommy types in chat.

“Are you gonna unmute him?”

Wilbur laughs. “Fuck no! He’s being annoying, he can learn his lesson.”

Tommy’s heart is beginning to ache. God, did his chest always hurt this much?

“Honestly, Tommy just needs to learn how to be fucking quiet. And I think this is the perfect way.”

He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he can see his chat in his peripheral. He makes a weak attempt at an offended face. He can’t let his chat know that he’s actually upset, he can’t-

“Look at how much we’re getting done without Tommy here, Techno! My headache has even gone away, it’s a miracle.”

Tommy begins to type in the MC chat again, make a plea for them to unmute him, to end the bit, before Wilbur speaks again.

“Honestly, I think we’re doing better off without him.”

For a split second, all Tommy can do is stare, frozen, at the screen in front of him. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Well, chat,” he starts, and he can’t stop his voice from wobbling. He clears his throat, trying to make it as dramatic and in-character as he can.

As annoying and worthless as he can.

“I think we’re gonna end the stream here! Since I can’t really talk, it seems as good a time as any.”

He hardly says goodbye; He doesn’t know if he’d be able to. He just needs to get out, get off of the camera, get off of the stream. Get off of the platform in which everyone can see him, can see how annoying he is, how much everyone hates him-

He ends the stream and immediately turns off his computer.

He stares at the black screen, before focusing on his reflection.

And God- God, how terrible is he?

He clamps a hand over his mouth to stop a whimper from coming out. He watches his eyebrows furrow, his eyes watering until tears are flowing over his eyelashes.

He can’t stand to look at himself. He curls into himself instead, boxing his shoulders in and pressing his second hand against his mouth too.

The kids from school were right. They had been right all along.

Why the fuck did Wilbur lie to him? Say all those fucking things to him when none of them were true-

Maybe Wilbur had believed it, at the time. Maybe he just hadn’t realized how annoying he was yet.

Tommy moves his hands from his mouth to his hair. Just to grip it in his fist, try to ground himself-

He doesn’t know when he stops crying. If he even does. He just feels a heavy weight overtake him, and decides to let it happen.

Tommy is asleep when he starts trending on Twitter. Screencaps of him during his stream, tight-jawed and teary-eyed. Clips of his voice wavering as he tries to happily end his stream.

Tommy is asleep when Wilbur finally ends his stream and checks Twitter. He’s asleep when Wilbur scrolls through tweet after tweet of Tommy close to tears. He’s asleep when Wilbur calls him, over and over again. He’s asleep when Tubbo calls him, and Techno calls him, and Dream calls him.

He’s asleep when the entire SMP calls him.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t call back a single one.

***

Tommy winces as he shifts.

His neck aches.

He forces himself to sit up, to stretch a bit-

_ Oh. What the fuck? _

He rubs the blurriness out of his eyes in an attempt to understand his situation better. He’s sat at his gaming chair, nowhere near his bed. He’s wearing the same clothes he had been wearing yesterday, it felt as though he hadn’t brushed his teeth-

He leans back and tries to think.

Closing his eyes, he wills the fog in his mind to dissipate, and-

_ Oh. _

His stomach drops. His hands are shaking, slightly, but he blinks back the stinging in his eyes.

He cried yesterday. He wasn’t going to cry again.

Wincing slightly at the ache in his limbs, he pushes himself off of the chair and grabs his phone.

The first thing it does is flash a text box at him:  _ Phone Battery at 7%. _ He clicks it away, and then sees everything else.

The dread in his stomach from earlier manages to fall even deeper. Something is wrong, and he knows it.

He scrolls through notification after notification. Seven missed calls from Wilbur, twelve missed calls from Tubbo. It seems as though everyone he fucking knows called him- he even has a missed call from both George and Sapnap.

He keeps scrolling past the missed calls until he gets to Discord notifications.

There’s even more messages than missed calls. He doesn’t bother reading any of them. Not until he figures out why the fuck everyone was so desperate to reach out to him.

It doesn’t take him long to find out. There’s a part of him that wishes he never did.

He’s still trending when he checks Twitter. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

He looks absolutely pathetic in those clips. He can feel the tears welling in his eyes again, and he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to hold them back.

Of course everyone saw him almost break down. Of course he wasn’t strong enough to hide it. Of course everyone in the fucking world knew now.

He puts down his phone and tries to swallow the lump in his throat, one quickly threatening to go right up.

Maybe he’d call Tubbo back. Maybe. Certainly not anyone else. But Tubbo deserved an explanation, or maybe an apology, or maybe… Maybe…

He wasn’t sure.

He stumbles out of his room, feeling slightly ill. His parents had left, a few days ago, for a business trip.

Tommy had told them he’d be fine on his own. He wasn’t so sure anymore.

The house felt empty and cold. Even with socks on, the cold seemed to seep out of the wooden floors and take ahold of him.

A chill took over his arms, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It made his hairs stand on end.

If Tommy were to stand completely still, he swears the house would be completely silent. There’s no hum of the refrigerator next to him, no birds singing sorrowful songs of summers past outside the window.

The air around him falls flat on his ears.

It makes his skin crawl.

He’s taking a step towards his cabinets when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He flinches, and for a moment just feels it buzz against his leg. He waits, still and silent, until the phone goes back to an idle state.

Taking a deep breath, he completes his journey to the kitchen cabinet. Frowning, he shuffles through the various boxes and containers.

Nothing sounds good. Not really, anyways, but he pulls out something he can choke down.

He’s sitting down in a random chair when his phone begins to buzz again. He glances at the time.

_ 8:54 AM. _

Earlier than he usually wakes up, but considering how early he had gone to bed the other night, it made sense, he supposed.

He looks down at the phone in front of him.

_ Wilbur Soot: Calling. _

Wilbur was usually an early-riser. Something about ‘not wanting to waste the day’. Tommy supposes it makes sense that Wilbur was calling him this early.

He still doesn’t answer. He pushes his phone aside and begins opening the food package instead.

The next time the phone buzzes is seven minutes later. This time, from Tubbo.

Tommy hesitates. He does want to talk to Tubbo, but he has a feeling he knows what they would be talking about.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t even want to think about it. And the thought of talking to Tubbo, hearing his voice and needing to hear himself speak-

He hangs up, but opens Discord instead.

_ Hey big T _

God, he feels fucking awful. His hands shake slightly as he sets the phone back on the table.

It’s buzzing again within seconds.

_ Tommy ar u okay? _

Tommy taps his fingers nervously on the table.

_ I’m fine, Big Man! _

Tubbo responds almost immediately.

_ VC? _

Tommy winces.  _ Fucking hell. Absolutely fucking not. _

_ Naw, I’m a bit busy rn _

He doesn’t bother looking back at his Discord when it buzzes again. Tubbo can’t even fucking read, it’s not like they’d be able to communicate unless Tommy voice chatted. Which he didn’t fucking want to do.

The phone starts buzzing again, but doesn’t stop. Hesitantly, Tommy looks at the screen.

_ Wilbur Soot: Calling. _

Tommy doesn’t even bother letting the call ring out. He reaches out and hangs up instead.

Within seconds, he gets a message from Wilbur.

_ Tommy. _

_ I know you’re up, Tubbo told me you’re talking with him. _

He feels his cheeks heat up. The fucking traitor.

He watches as Wilbur finishes typing.

_ Call me, Tommy? Please? _

_ I’m sorry- _

Tommy slams his phone down with a huff.

His heart is beating faster, now.

How dare Wilbur? How dare Wilbur publicly bash him, humiliate him, finally speak his fucking mind and then say sorry as if he gave a shit? As if Tommy meant fucking anything to him.

He takes a shaky breath.  _ Fuck. I don’t mean anything to him. _

He’s gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. His eyes are stinging, but he refuses to let even a single tear fall.

Wilbur lied to him.

_ And it’s my own fucking fault for being so damn annoying. _

Tommy continued to ignore his phone buzzing for the next hour. He didn’t even bother looking to see who was calling. He left it face-down on the kitchen table and refused to look at it.

With a sigh, he finally picks himself off of the kitchen chair. He’s hardly eaten, but the cold feels like it’s seeping past his skull and into his brain. He just needs to get the fuck out of there.

A series of three knocks interrupts the thick silence.

For a moment, Tommy stands completely frozen, staring at the door. Digging his nails into his palm to stop himself from panicking, he walks towards the door.

He knows it’s probably just a package, or his neighbor, or someone selling something. He still takes a deep breath to ready himself before opening to the door, talking to someone for the first time since the day before-

Brown eyes stare back at him, almost covered by the mass of curly hair sticking out from under a beanie.

Tommy almost slams the door shut. He clings to the door instead, as though it’s the only thing keeping him from falling straight out of the door and into the road.

“Tommy,” Wilbur sighs, and he sounds relieved. “Thank fuck, I was worried about you-”

“Go away.”

Tommy won’t look at him anymore. He stares at Wilbur’s feet instead, willing them to walk away.

“Can we talk, Tommy? Please?”

Tommy can feel something thick begin to rise up his throat. “Why, so you can bash me? So I can give you a headache? So I can annoy the shit out of you?”

He watches Wilbur’s feet step closer to him (the opposite way than what Tommy had been desperately hoping for).

“Tommy, please. I’m sorry, I really am, I didn’t… I thought we were joking around. I’m sorry I took it too far, can I just… Can I just please come in and talk with you?”

Tommy wants to say no. He really does. His eyes are beginning to sting, but he blinks back the slight pain coming from them.

“Fine.”

Not like he could say no. His parents told him that if he needed anything, he was supposed to check in with Wilbur, so he’d have to talk with him sometime anyway.

The kitchen is silent, and still cold. The only other sound now is Wilbur’s footsteps as he leads him towards the kitchen chair.

Tommy still refuses to look at Wilbur as they both take a seat. He refuses to say anything, too. If Wilbur wants to talk, that’s fine, but he didn’t have to say a word.

He hears Wilbur sigh. “Are you doing alright, Tommy?”

Tommy nods.

“Are you sure? I, uh. I saw the clip. From the stream last night.”

Tommy bites his lip. “So what?”

Wilbur leans forward. “So I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t mean any of it-”

“Did you not, Wilbur? Did you not?” Tommy interrupts. “It certainly fucking seems like you did.”

“It was a joke, Tommy, I didn’t know it would mean that much-”

“You thought it was a joke when I was begging you to unmute me?” Tommy finally looks Wilbur in his stupid fucking eyes. “When, in front of tens of thousands of people, you admitted you hated me?”

Wilbur leans back, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “I never said that-”

“No, but you practically did!” Tommy’s aware he’s shouting, now, but he doesn’t care. He wants to yell. He wants Wilbur to feel every ounce of pain that Tommy has felt. “About how annoying, and useless, and worthless I am-”

He’s choking up, now, but he can’t stop. Now that the doors are opened, he doesn’t have the strength to close them.

“How I give you headaches, and migraines, and how you wish I would just shut up and stop talking, how- how-”

He angrily wipes at his tears before they can streak down his cheek. Wilbur doesn’t deserve to see him cry. Not that he would care anyway.

“How you all would be better off without me, and how much of a burden I am, how I’m not even your brother because I’m too fucking annoying-”

“Tommy!”

Tommy catches the last of his words in his mouth as Wilbur interrupts him. He looks… horrified, if Tommy had to put a word to it. But he wouldn’t look horrified. Not over him.

Wilbur shakes his head, quickly and frantically. “No, no no no, Tommy… Tommy, I didn’t…”

Tommy unwillingly lets the tears fall as he stares down Wilbur.

“Tommy, I don’t think any of that,” Wilbur finally whispers. He takes a shaky breath and rubs harshly at his eyes.

“Toms, I didn’t… You’re not annoying, Tommy.”

He almost laughs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m being serious, Tommy,” Wilbur says with a wobbling voice. “I would never, ever say that and mean it. Jesus, Tommy, I could never. I could never say that about you. You’re funny, and passionate, and just- Bloody hell. You’re not worthless, Tommy, you’ve never been worthless-” a tear slips down Wilbur’s cheek, now, but he doesn’t stop, “You mean everything to me. You’re my younger brother, my little Toms! My gremlin child! I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here, I mean, fuck, I don’t know where I would be without you. We’ve done everything together, Tommy, I can’t imagine what I would have done without you.” He takes another shaky breath, rubbing his eyes harder than before. “Fuck, Tommy, I can’t imagine if you ever stopped talking. I think I would die. Without your shitty jokes, and your laugh, and the way you just talk about everything and anything, God, where would we even be-” he gives a watery laugh. “Tommy, I’m so, so fucking sorry if I made you think that. You’re not a burden. Never ever. I love you, we all do- Me, and Tubbo, and Techno, and everyone else. You mean everything to us, Tommy. We can’t imagine you any other way. You’re our little Tommy.”

Tommy can’t stop the tears that have been falling. He feels like he’s going to crumble at any moment.

Wilbur opens his arms, an invitation, a plea, and Tommy takes it.

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Wilbur whispers as Tommy cries into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

He runs his hand through Tommy’s hair as they both cry.

Wilbur would call everyone later, and assure them that Tommy was alright.

When Tommy began to stream again, Wilbur made sure he was heard. Affirmed him, and encouraged him, and protected him.

But for now, as Tommy is held in Wilbur’s arms, he just appreciates how his kitchen isn’t cold anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE RETURNED.
> 
> I promise I haven't forgotten about this fic!! I absolutely love writing for it. But with work, and school, and an onslaught of terrible depression, I haven't really been able to pump out anything good. I apologize if the ending of this seems rushed, but I did my best with the time I had.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments, kudos, and suggestions! I write down every suggestion given, and hopefully soon I can have time to fulfill them all. Thank you all for sticking by this fic! Love you!


	9. Your City Gave Me Asthma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy listens to 'Your City Gave Me Asthma' for the first time, and begins to immensely worry for Wilbur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Talk of suicide
> 
> Please, please, please pay attention to the Trigger Warning on this. I love you all, and it's alright to skip a chapter that may trigger you. Please stay safe. If you need to skip this one to stay safe, that is completely okay, and I'll see you next chapter, my love <3

It took a while for Tommy to listen to ‘Your City Gave Me Asthma’.

Not on purpose, of course. Wilbur just never really talked about it. When he found out about the album, he decided that the next time he had a free night, he would listen to it all in one go.

It was a few nights later, when he had finished streaming and his homework was all finished, that he finally decided to.

It was good! It really was! Wilbur’s voice was nice, and of course the music was well done.

But it was also Wilbur. Wilbur, singing about being worthless and leaving. Wilbur, singing about barriers and tubelines and depression.

Wilbur singing about feeling so empty that he was going to leave everyone behind.

Wilbur singing about dying.

Which is what led Tommy to right now.

Tommy holds his phone in his hand, staring at the non-existent Discord conversation. He ignores the way his hand trembles, the way his throat feels clogged.

He’s typed, deleted, typed, and deleted again. He sees Wilbur’s face in his profile pic, his curly brown hair, and dark brown eyes, eyes he might never see again-

He bites his lip. He can’t cry. Not now. He needs to focus on finding someway, anyway to reach out-

He feels like he’s suffocating. He begins to type a message, something along the lines of  _ hey wil, can we talk? _ Before immediately deleting it. It’s not good enough. God, what even is good enough? What’s good enough that he can convince Wilbur to not abandon him, leave them all behind?

For that matter, what could he even do? He’s sixteen, a literal child, what could he do for Wilbur? He doesn’t know how to comfort him, or help him, or even be a source of happiness for him-

He stifles a sob threatening to pass the lump in his throat. He closes his eyes, gripping the phone in his hand instead.

Maybe… maybe he can do that last one. Maybe, if Tommy can make Wilbur happy enough, he won’t want to leave. He knows it doesn’t work like that, but just…

Maybe it would this time. Maybe it would do something, anything, to help.

So with trembling fingers, Tommy types  _ are you busy tomorrow, Wil? _

He then begins to plan.

***

Tommy had been acting strange all day.

It didn’t take long for Wilbur to notice. Longer than he would have liked to admit, but it can be slightly hard to tell with Tommy.

He wasn’t suspicious when Tommy had texted him the night before, asking if he had any plans for the coming day. He didn’t. He wasn’t suspicious when Tommy asked if they could hang out, then, as Tommy had a surprise-day planned out.

Of course, Wilbur said yes. He always enjoyed hanging out with Tommy. There was always a chance of getting into trouble, for certain, but Wilbur could usually stop him from getting into exceptional trouble.

The suspicion started when Wilbur picked up Tommy the following morning.

“Big Man!” Tommy yelled as he jumped into the passenger seat. “Have I got a day planned for us!”

Wilbur rolls his eyes with a smile. “Alright, you little Gremlin Child. You finally going to tell me what we’re doing?”

He shakes his head. “Then it’s not a surprise anymore! I’ll just tell you where to go, and you follow.”

Tommy doesn’t stop talking the entire ride. He asks Wilbur about his life, and streaming ideas, and his roommates. He only stops to interject himself with driving directions.

It’s not entirely uncommon for Tommy to talk during long journeys. But usually there’s lulls of silence, of comfortable quiet that gently fills the car. Tommy doesn’t let silence fall once the entire ride.

“Okay Wil, just take one more left here- Here we are, bitch!”

Wilbur glances at the building sign and almost chokes. “Toms, are you serious?”

They’re pulling into one of the fanciest, most expensive breakfast places, and Tommy has to be joking.

Wilbur can’t afford this place. Not reasonably, anyway. And he’s hardly dressed for it. He just wore whatever jumper he pulled out that morning, he certainly doesn’t look nice enough for such a professional place.

“Why’d you stop the car? Come on, Wil, hurry up and park.”

Wilbur turns and stares at him. “Tommy. You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am!”

He laughs at that. “Tommy, no you aren’t! That place is expensive as hell! Look at us, we’re not exactly dressed nice enough to eat there anyway!”

Tommy shakes his head. “No no no, we’re fine. I have enough money for it, I’m famous, after all. And I doubt they’ll fucking care about how we’re dressed, if we’re paying them money.”

Wilbur continues to stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“I already said I’m not! I have enough money to pay for both of us, hurry up before we lose our reservation.”

“ _ Reservation? _ ” Wilbur asks in disbelief, but he pulls in anyway. “Tommyinnit, I refuse to believe this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank.”

He continues to think it’s an elaborate prank up until Tommy walks up to the server.

“Tommy!” Wilbur laughs. “I can’t believe you!”

Tommy shrugs casually, as though he didn’t make reservations to one of the nicest, most expensive restaurants.

Wilbur tries to pick the cheapest meal, but Tommy won’t let him. He chooses something just a bit more expensive, which, though apprehensive, Tommy accepts.

“Really, Tommy, there was nothing wrong with my first choice,” Wilbur says as he hands the waitress the menu. “Just because it didn’t cost thousands of dollars doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have been good.”

“Yeah, but you only chose it because it didn’t cost a lot. I told you, Wil, I have enough money. Just do what you want to.”

Wilbur sighs and decides to not push it. Tommy was being kind, and he shouldn’t act ungrateful for such.

The breakfast went well. Even if Wilbur looks like he just crawled out of bed, and Tommy laughs far too loud for a place as lavish as this, he feels happy. The food is exquisite, and he can’t deny how posh he feels being in a building like this.

It’s a nice change of pace.

He’s still laughing as he exits the building and enters his car. He feels as though his face is practically glowing.

“Alright, Gremlin, you’ll have to tell me how to get you back home from here.”

“What? No way, Wil, we’ve just started.”

This does make Wilbur falter. “What do you mean?”

“I have an entire day planned out! It can’t just stop at breakfast!”

Wilbur side-eyes him. “Just how much are we doing, Tommy? I don’t want to keep you out-”

“It’s fine! My parents gave me permission, Wil.”

Wilbur turns to say something but stops himself. Tommy is smiling, a large, casual thing, but his eyes look wrong. Almost pleading.

He’s tempted to ask Tommy if something happened at home. If there was a reason he didn’t seem to want to go back. Worry laces around his heart and through his ribcage, but he settles to ignore it. For now, anyway.

“Alright then, Tommyinnit. Where to next?”

‘Where to next’ ended up being to a carnival about forty minutes away. Wilbur almost sighs in relief. He can afford this. Not only that, but the way he’s dressed is just fine.

He continues idle conversation with Tommy until they get to a woman at a booth. Tommy then lightly pushes him aside and pulls out a wallet. “Tickets for two, please.”

“Tommy, I can pay for myself,” Wilbur interrupts.

“No, it’s alright, Wil,” Tommy says, handing a wad of cash to the woman.

Wilbur frowns. “I’m not poor.”

“I know, I just wanted to do something nice for you. Cause I care about you.”

The comment almost takes Wilbur aback. “I know, I never said you did, I just-”

“Thank you!” Tommy interrupts, pulling the admission tickets out of the woman’s hand. “Come on, Wil, we’ve got to get in line for the cool rides before more people get here.”

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything as Tommy drags him by his wrist towards some rides.

By all means, the flashy lights and the thrilling rides should elevate Wilbur, but instead he just feels nervous.

Now that he’s paying attention, Tommy has been acting off. He’s been a step closer to Wilbur than he would normally be. His laughs are louder than usual, seeming somewhat forced, and he always looks at Wilbur after every joke. After every. One.

He doesn’t let Wilbur do anything by himself, either. If Wilbur comments on wanting to try out a carnival game, Tommy is one step ahead of him, already pulling out his wallet to buy him a try. Tommy wins a stuffed animal, and immediately gives it to Wilbur. Around lunch, Wilbur makes an off-handed comment about being hungry, and Tommy runs off and comes back with whatever trashy food he could find.

He tries to ignore it. Maybe Tommy just really wanted to be helpful. Maybe he was just trying to be kind.

The excuse works until around 5.

“Alright, Toms, we’ve ridden every ride five times and done almost every carnival game. Are we done here or what?”

Tommy looks around before smiling and placing his hands on his hips. “I say we are.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes at Tommy’s proud look before looking out towards the parking lot. “Fuck, it’s busy out. I suppose it is rush hour now.” He turns towards Tommy and bumps his shoulder. “Down for taking the tube?”

And the look that Tommy gives him is the nail in the coffin that something is wrong.

It’s only for a second. Less so, even. How Tommy’s eyebrows raise and his eyes widen in a sense of fear, his mouth opening in a small, quick intake of breath.

“No,” he says quickly. “No, I- I actually don’t really want to ride the tube.”

Wilbur hesitates before nodding towards the bustling road. “If you want to do something else today, Toms, the tube is probably our best bet. It’ll probably take us an hour to get out of here if we take the car.”

He watches Tommy’s face carefully. How he stares wistfully at the road, before turning cautiously back towards Wilbur. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

Carefully, Wilbur takes a step towards Tommy. “Are you alright?”

Tommy blinks, and it’s like Wilbur flipped a switch. “Of course! Now let’s go before we run out of time.”

Tommy’s walking fast towards the station, but Wilbur is refusing to let him go too far ahead. “Really, Tommy, is everything alright? You’ve been acting sort of strange, did something happen-”

“I’m fine, Wil,” Tommy says. “I just wasn’t expecting to have to take the tube. That’s all.”

Wilbur fidgets with his fingers, but doesn’t press on further. They had been having such a good day up until now, he doesn’t want to ruin it because of his worry.   
Yet, Tommy slows as they reach the entrance of the subway.

“Come on, Toms, we’re going to miss the next train if we don’t get going.”

Tommy nods, walking even closer to Wilbur than he had been all day.

They pass crowds of people, as Wilbur tries to push towards the front. If Tommy was this nervous about taking the tube, then he’d make sure they got in and out as soon as possible.

So he gently passes people crowded around the station, muttering ‘excuse me’s and ‘pardon’s. The chatter of the people create a dull hum throughout the dimly lit station. His footsteps add to the flat sounds, as he takes another step closer to the rails-

He almost yelps as a hand shoots out and grasps his arm. He turns, ready to scold whoever frightened him, when he meets with blue eyes staring back at him.

Terrified. Blue eyes wide and frantic and terrified.

“Tommy?” Wilbur asks, gently and experimentally. “What’s going on?”

Tommy just shakes his head, lips in a tight line.

“Did something happen, Tommy?”

“No,” Tommy says quickly. “I just… We shouldn’t be that close to the train.”

Wilbur’s brow furrows. Tommy’s never had this problem with trains before. If anything, Tommy would be the one pushing his way to the front, eager to get the best seat before anyone else could.

Wilbur sighs. He can’t let this continue. This game of trying to convince himself that everything was okay was obviously failing.

He gently takes Tommy’s bicep and guides him towards an empty space in the station. It’s a small tiled corner, with graffiti littering the walls and cigarette buds littering the floor.

“Tommy,” Wilbur starts, and Tommy won’t even look at him. He’s staring at the ground so all Wilbur can see is the tufts of blond hair on his head.

“Tommy,” Wilbur tries again. Tommy still doesn’t look up. He sighs and decides to continue. “What’s wrong, Tommy?”

Tommy just shakes his head.

“It’s alright, Toms. I’m not mad at you. You can tell me if something happened, Toms.”

Tommy doesn’t even shake his head this time. He continues to stare frozen at the ground below them.

Wilbur waits a minute, then another, trying to give Tommy time to answer. He doesn’t.

“Did I do something?”

He gets a shake of the head at this. He hears their train pull in, but he doesn’t make any motion to leave. They can wait for the next train.

The sound of the train seems to trigger something in Tommy, though. He watches Tommy grip his own arms, digging his nails into his skin (a bad habit that Wilbur had been meaning to talk to Tommy about).

Then, quiet, and strained, and shaky, he hears Tommy mutter, “I don’t want you to leave.”

The worry that had been laced around his chest tightened. “What?”

Tommy shakes his head. “I don’t want you to leave,” He says slightly louder, his voice emitting a crack near the end.

It’s a rare thing, for Wilbur to be left speechless. Yet here he is. He can feel his heart ache in his chest, his mouth opening to say something, anything, but he can’t bring words to roll past his tongue.

“Tommy, I don’t… What are you talking about, Tommy?”

Tommy finally looks up, and Wilbur can see the tears overtaking his eyes.

“I don’t- I don’t want you to leave, Wil-” Tommy hiccups, and then the tears start falling.

“Hey, hey hey,” Wilbur says, trying to be comforting. He takes a step towards Tommy. “What’s wrong, Toms? Why are you saying this?”

Tommy just cries harder. Wilbur takes another step, arms forward to envelop him in a hug, when Tommy speaks.

“I don’t want you to die, Wil.”

It’s hardly common for moments to be truly recognized. For a single moment to feel so real, so insanely human and wretched that for a second all one can do is sit in it, as though a bystander watching their own lives on a screen.

It’s this kind of moment that occurs for Wilbur.

He can’t hear the consistent hum of the people around him. He can’t hear the roar of the train as it passes by him, leaving him and Tommy behind. He doesn’t hear the baby behind him crying, the beggar gently playing guitar with an open case in the hopes of making more than a dime.

He can hardly hear anything at all.

His heart drops, past his stomach and past his toes and past the floor beneath him. Instead of tensing in fear, or shock, he feels himself practically go limp. The arms that had started to reach towards Tommy fall towards his sides instead.

And the tall, blue-eyed, loud-mouthed boy in front of him won’t stop crying. He’s crying even harder now than he was before.

“What?” Wilbur whispers.

Tommy chokes on a sob. He takes a trembling breath, and Wilbur isn’t even sure he’s really breathing.

“I don’t want you to die, Wilbur. Please, please, just don’t- Don’t leave us, please-”

He feels like a ghost as he finally travels the distance to Tommy. There’s a part of his mind that thinks, as he wraps his arms around Tommy, that his arms are going to phase right through him.

But then another sob rips out of Tommy’s throat, raw and anguished and  _ aching, _ and the trance Wilbur found himself in snaps away.

He finds himself shushing Tommy, gently running his fingers through his hair. He’s shaking, can’t seem to stop, but he forces himself to stay solid on the ground.

“It’s okay, Tommy, I’m okay-”

“Please, please Wilbur, I can’t- I don’t want you to leave, please don’t- Please don’t die-”

“Shh, shh. I’m okay, Tommy. I’m right here.”

Tommy is clinging onto him with immense strength. As though if he lets go, Wilbur will slip away for good.

“I don’t- I listened to your album, and you- you just-”

Wilbur takes a deep breath.

There was a risk with publishing that album, and he knew it. But his family already knew about his poor mental health.

He didn’t think anyone would take it too hard. It was a good outlet for people to write music about how they were feeling. His friends all knew that. They supported it, even. Writing about his mental health made him feel a bit better about it.

But then again, Tommy was just a child. He should have expected something like this, at least a little. Just because his older friends would understand, would already know what he was going through, that he had help, didn’t mean that Tommy would. He probably should have explained it to him.

“Hey, Tommy. Shh. You’re alright, I’m alright.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Tommy whimpers. “Please don’t leave me, Wilbur, please don’t leave me-”

Wilbur holds him closer, continuing to shush him as Tommy cries.

“I know it’s selfish, I know, but I can’t- I don’t want you to go, Wilbur, I can’t watch you go-”

“You’re not selfish, Tommy. God, you’re not selfish.”

He closes his eyes as he holds the shaking child.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tommy,” he whispers. “I’m doing my best. I promise I’m doing my best. I’m right here, Tommy. I’m right here.”

And Wilbur begins to cry too.

He doesn’t know how long they both stand there.

But he knows that when they step onto the next train, they hold hands the entire time. Making sure neither of them leaves.

Making sure they both make it safely past the tube lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just found out about 'Your City Gave Me Asthma' a few weeks ago, and honestly, I'm surprised no one has done anything with it yet.
> 
> I'm sorry if this is a bit OOC, or messy on the plot. I guess this is a bit of projection. I know it's not really like the other one shots I've done, but hey, maybe it's just as good.
> 
> For those of you leaving recommendations, I see you!! I apologize that this is one that no one recommended, I just really wanted to write it. I have a list of all recommendations on a document, so chances are I'll get there eventually. The next chapter I have planned has been requested quite frequently, so I think people will be excited to see it! (A little hint here: Perhaps Wilbur is going to have to try to find Tommy for some reason...)
> 
> If you're struggling with something like this, please, please reach out. There are people out there who love and care for you. Hey, I love and care for you. Please eat, and drink water, and be safe.
> 
> You know the drill on comments, kudos, and suggestions!
> 
> Love you all, my babes<3 <3 <3


	10. Where's My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets kicked out and doesn't tell anyone. Sleepy Boys Inc. + Tubbo find out, and desperately try to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was recommended SO many times, just in slightly different ways! Thank you Gay_Gay_Gay, rogalekk, and pr0blematic for commenting on my fics with suggestions! I absolutely adored this suggestion, and I hope I did it justice.
> 
> Title from the song "Where's My Love" by SYML.
> 
> NOT A SHIPPING THING. ABSOLUTELY NOT. NEVER. I just thought the song sort of captured the emotions and themes I was going for with this chapter.

His hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

It wasn’t the worst fight Tommy had ever been in. Not even close to what his mum had said.

He was bruised, and bloody, and his nose ached, but he had been in worse shape.

Not that his mum had cared to hear it.

The sun has already begun to set as Tommy exits the door, slamming it with all of his might just for spite.

He’s gripping the backpack straps around his shoulders so tight, he’s sure his knuckles would be a bare white if not for the seep of purple and blue blossoming on them.

His hands still won’t stop shaking.

It was fine. He was fine.

He didn’t need his fucking mum, or his house, or anything that they could have fucking offered to him.

The fight with his schoolmates hadn’t been that bad. The argument with his mother, on the other hand…

Tommy had gotten into arguments with his parents before. Who hadn’t? About dumb shit, or slightly more serious things. Hell, it wasn’t the first time that he had gotten into an argument about fights at school.

Usually, he’d storm to his room, lock the door, and stay there until he’d calmed down. Wait until his parents knocked, and he’d inevitably apologize, and say that he would get better.

He always meant to get better. He always tried to.

Not like it ever did him any good.

He walks with no end goal. He doesn’t care where he ends ups, he just needs to be somewhere, anywhere else. Anywhere but the house he was just yelled at in, anywhere but the room he was told to leave in, anywhere but the home he was just kicked out of.

The backpack is light on his shoulders. Tommy didn’t waste time packing. He grabbed his phone, his wallet, and a single bottle of water. With the room left in the small pack, he shoved clothes from his dresser into the fabric. There was no goal, no strategic planning. He grabbed at random and in bulk.

He walks until his legs burn. It’s dark, now, the world around him illuminated by the city street lamps.

Slowly, he comes to a stop at a park. The adrenaline from the argument is starting to wear off, and all Tommy feels is tired.

His nose still burns, his fists aching with a bitter soreness.

And the reality of the situation was finally starting to dawn.

_ Holy shit. I got kicked out. _

He takes a deep, shaky breath.

_ I have nowhere to go. _

He forces himself to shake his head. Pushing the thought to the side of his mind, he sits on an old swing. The park is empty, which makes sense for the late hour.

Pulling out his phone, Tommy winces.

Five percent. And he’s pretty sure he forgot to bring his charger.

_ Better make it count, then, _ he thinks to himself as he scrolls through his contacts.

He can’t go home. Even if he wanted to, his mother wouldn’t let him back in.

With a careful finger, he taps on Wilbur’s name and waits for the phone to ring out.

The phone rings once, then twice. It begins to ring a third time before stopping abruptly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Big Dubs!” Tommy says, attempting to sound as normal as possible. He didn’t exactly want Wilbur knowing he got into a fight, either. He’s sure that would just bring up another argument, which he was not in the mood for. “Listen, I’m trying to stay somewhere tonight. I don’t know if your flatmates are home or whatever, but-”

A deep laugh erupts from the phone, interrupting Tommy. “Are you serious, Toms?”

The grip on his phone tightens. Wilbur’s laughing like it’s a joke, and maybe to him it is.

“Listen, Tommy, I understand if you’re bored or whatever the fuck, but I’m a full grown man. I can’t just have you over cause you feel like it.”

Tommy huffs. “Obviously, bitch. I’m not  _ just bored, _ ” he says in an exaggerated tone, “I just… need to room for a little bit.”

He hears shuffling from Wilbur’s side of the phone. “And deal with your annoying ass? No fucking way, Tommy.”

Wilbur laughs at that. Tommy doesn’t.

“If you want to hang out, just VC us. Then you can hang out with me, and Tubbo, and Philza, and the whole gang!”

Tommy gives a half-assed laugh. He doesn’t have his PC. He doesn’t even have enough battery on his phone to talk to anyone.

“No, I uh- I’m just gonna go, Wil. I’ll figure something out.”

“Are you sure, To-”

He waits a second, and then another. He furrows his brows as he glances towards his phone.

Dead.

He laughs. A dry, bitter thing.

For a moment, he stays like that. A lone boy, sat on a swing too low for him, armed with only a beat-up bag and a dead phone.

God. His nose fucking hurts. He wonders briefly if he broke it.

He pushes himself up, glancing around him.

He could try to go to Tubbo’s house, if he even knew how to get there from here…

The idea is quickly pushed aside as he looks at his bruised skin.

He can’t have someone else disappointed in him. Not Tubbo, not now.

He can’t go to someone else and have them reject him. Push him back out towards the street. Or even worse, take him in with a deep bitterness in their eyes, wishing that he wasn’t such a disappointment. That he wasn’t so annoying that the kids at school couldn’t stop picking on him for a single day.

An apprehensive decision is made to stay out here, instead.

He doesn’t want to sleep at a fucking playground. That’s where kids play, and he wasn’t about to be caught in the morning by a five year old.

He knows that homeless shelters are a thing, but is he even homeless? Does he count? Would they take him in?

Tommy rotates in another circle. He can feel his eyes beginning to sting.

He doesn’t even know where the nearest homeless shelter is. And it’s not like he can look it up.

All of the buildings around him are closed. Lights off, and doors locked.

He finally decides on a small alley, pushed between two buildings.

In an effort to not be seen, he walks to the very end of the alley. The stone is cold underneath his palms as he sits himself down. The mix of the freezing pavement beneath him and the crisp air envelop him, causing a shiver to ripple down his spine.

With a sigh, he opens his bag and begins to look through it.

He has three or four shirts, but they’re all short-sleeved. He’s not even sure if he got any jeans. Summer had been swelteringly hot, up to that point, so his drawers were filled to the brim with shorts.

It shouldn’t be the breaking point for him. The breaking point should have been when the kids from school called him gay, as though it were some sort of insult. The breaking point should have been when his mum screamed at him to get out of the house after Tommy yelled obscenities at her. The breaking point should have been the walk here. The breaking point should have been Wilbur leaving him on the streets (knowingly or not).

Instead, the breaking point comes after he gets to the bottom of his bag.

He hadn’t packed a hoodie.

He hadn’t packed a hoodie, and he was cold, and that was the breaking point.

Tommy shoves a fist in his mouth to stifle the sob that comes out.

_ I have nowhere to go. I have nowhere to fucking go. _

He leans against the wall behind him, subconsciously curling up against it as though he could disappear into it.

What would his friends say, if they saw him like this?

Laugh, probably. Like how Wilbur did.

Laugh at the shivering boy, who was too fucking brash to stay out of fights, too stupid to pack simple essentials.

Maybe they’d just turn away. Look at him in disappointment before leaving him, a deep regret for all their wasted time ingrained in their frowns.

God, he’s exhausted. Exhausted, and in pain, and now fucking homeless.

He couldn’t go back home. He wouldn’t.

Shifting onto his side, he squeezes his eyes shut.

_ Maybe I can just sleep until tomorrow. I can figure it all out tomorrow. _

Against the cold stone, underneath the dark speckled sky, he closes his eyes to sleep.

He hardly sleeps at all.

***

“Have you spoken to Tommy at all, Tubbo?”

Wilbur taps his finger on his desktop. It was unlike Tommy to go quiet for this long.

“No, no, he hasn’t. He hasn’t talked to you at all?”

Wilbur lets out a negative hum. “We talked for a minute, last night, but I haven’t heard anything since.”

“Huh. Odd,” Tubbo says genuinely.

“Yeah. Odd.”

Wilbur had originally chalked it up to Tommy being busy. The boy was still in school, after all, certainly he had homework galore.

But then Wilbur started streaming, and Techno started streaming, and Tubbo started streaming, and Tommy still didn’t show up. He waits to mention it until they all collectively end.

“Have you any of you heard from Tommy yet?”

“Naw.”

“No.”

“I still haven’t, no.”

He frowns.

“He just hasn’t said anything in a really fucking long time.”

Philza hums quietly. “I noticed he didn’t stream today, either. He hasn’t said anything to anyone?”

Wilbur shuffles. “I mean, I heard from him last night, but it was hardly anything spectacular.”

“He didn’t mention anything about being busy today?”

“No. Just kind of asked to hang out before hanging up.”

“He’s probably just caught up in something,” Tubbo interrupts. “Right?”

Wilbur shakes his head.  _ Right. No need to dramatize it. _

“Right.”

For about an hour or so, Wilbur begins to forget about Tommy’s absence. Tubbo was probably right, after all. Tommy was a busy kid, he didn’t have all-day every-day to joke around with these cunts.

He’s arguing with Techno when his phone begins to ring.

“Oop- hold on guys, someone’s…” He falters as he looks at the caller ID. Rereading the name on the screen, he laughs nervously. “Hey guys, Motherinnit is calling me.”

A small chorus of conversation begins up, but Wilbur holds his finger up to his lips. A quiet signifying symbol of  _ Shut the Fuck Up. _

“Hello?”

“Mr. Soot,” Tommy’s mother says, and Wilbur would have laughed at the formality if not for the distressed tone in her voice. “I apologize for calling out of the blue, but is Tommy with you?”

Wilbur’s heart stutters nervously. “No, no, he’s not.”

“Oh,” she replies, and the disappointment in her voice seeps through the speaker of Wilbur’s phone. “Sorry for bothering you then, Mr. Soot.”

Wilbur waits a moment for her to continue. She doesn’t.

“Has Tommy run off?” He says with a light, anxious chuckle. The others must have realized that something was off, as they were typing in the chat asking what was wrong, if Tommy was calling.

“He, uh-” She clears her throat as her voice begins to roughen. “He never came home last night.”

For a second, Wilbur does nothing but sit. He shakes his head, attempting to clear the thoughts that are beginning to rapidly form-

“What time? He called me last night, he wasn’t at home?”

_ Tubbo: What? _

_ Philza: Wil, is Tommy alright? _

_ Techno: wilbur answer our fucking questions _

He hears a small gasp from the line. “He called you? Where- What did he say?”

Wilbur almost begins to laugh. The situation feels absurd.

“He just asked if he could hang out. I didn’t really think anything of it, I assumed he just wanted to get out of the house-”

“No, he-” She makes a frustrated groan. “He was already out of the house. We had an argument, and I- I kicked him out, I just thought that maybe with a little time he’d come back inside and apologize, but he never came back, and now I don’t know where he is.” Her voice strains on the last line.

It’s almost as though a weight is slowly pressing on him. Realization dawning, as though someone drew back the blinds to reveal a hard, bright truth behind it.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

_ Tommy, you absolute bitch. You fucking cunt. _

Tommy’s mother releases a deep, troubled sigh. “Please let me know if you hear anything, Mr. Soot.”

“No, I’ll-” Wilbur begins to get up, before realizing he’s still on call with everyone. Hesitantly, he sits at the edge of his seat, bouncing his leg. “I’ll leave, right now. I’ll check around my area to see if he’s anywhere near me.”

With a quick promise to call back if he saw anything, he hangs up, getting up to grab his car keys-

“What the  _ fuck _ was that about, Wilbur?”

Wilbur laughs. Nothing’s funny.

“Tommy’s gone missing.”

There’s a second where silence fills the space. Then-

“What?” Tubbo asks, his voice shaky.

“Oh, fuck,” Philza whispers. “Like- like  _ missing _ missing? Like… Like kidnap-”

“No, no no no,” Wilbur says quickly. “Thank fuck, no. Like, ran away. Sort of.”

He doesn’t mention the fact that Tommy could, now, be kidnapped. He doesn’t know what happened after Tommy called him. He doesn’t know whether Tommy hasn’t come back out of pride, or because he couldn’t, wasn’t physically able to.

But he could see Tubbo on the call, eyes wide and eyebrows drawn upwards, staring at him.

“Tubbo,” Techno says, and if anyone else hears the slight edge of panic in his voice, they elect to ignore it, “you should leave the call. Talk to your parents, let them know that Tommy is missing. He might try to call one of you guys.”

Tubbo shakes his head frantically. “No- no, but what if Wilbur finds something? Or, or, he tries to join in the VC, or-”

“You’ll be the first to know, Tubbo,” Philza interjects. “You might even know something before the rest of us do. Just let your parents know so you all can look out for him, alright?”

Tubbo hesitates before nodding. “Yeah… Yeah, okay, I guess. I’ll VC you guys later.”

A sigh escapes Wilbur’s lips as he finishes. The relief of convincing Tubbo to leave, however, is quickly replaced by the grim air of the situation.

“Wil, where are you going to be looking? I doubt he’d be out as far as me, but obviously, if something happened…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

He maps out an area, Techno and Philza staying silent the entire time.

“I’m not really sure, though,” Wilbur finally says, looking at the area he’s highlighted. “If I don’t find him, I’ll probably just keep moving.”

“I’ll look where you’re not, then. Just in case.”

Techno huffs, a small but pent-up thing of air. “If you guys don’t find him, let me know as soon as possible. I can try to book a flight out, if I have to.”

Wilbur gives a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

He stands up, and with a final promise to talk to them as soon as possible, hangs up.

He’s out the door before he’s even sure he’s breathed again.

The car hardly starts before he’s flooring it. All he needs to do is get out, get out of his house and near wherever Tommy is.

He’s never searched for anyone before. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

The sun is still setting, and the roads are too full for him to make good time like that, so he parks on the side of the road and decides to look on foot until the roads cleared.

Wilbur calls out for Tommy, ignoring the strange looks of the passerbyers.

Tommy’s name echoes down the street. No one answers.

He searches until stars start to replace the glow of the sun. Wasting no time, he hops into his car and begins to drive again.

He drives slow, slower than he would like to. It feels like he’s wasting time. If something is wrong with Tommy, he could be far too late to help.

But if he drove fast, then he might miss the boy completely. Drive by him, and lose him, and never see him again-

He looks at the time and almost cries.

It’s been two hours. Two hours of looking for this dumbass kid, who streams Minecraft for a living, and yells too much, and found a way into their little fucking family despite being so fucking annoying-

A sob starts to rip out of Wilbur’s throat, but he gasps air to keep it down.

He can’t start crying. Not now, not when Tommy’s still out there.

He can’t start crying when-

When Tommy’s right there. When he can see Tommy’s stupid mess of blond hair, and his shitty red-sleeved shirt, and his dumb-ass fucking bag sitting by his feet as he gently rocks on the playground swing-

_ Tommy is right fucking there. _

His back is facing towards Wilbur. It’s the only reason Wilbur doesn’t park the car in the middle of the street and run for him.

Instead, he parks as fast as possible. Pulling into a random spot on the side of the road, he hops out of the car, and has to stop himself from sprinting towards the figure on the swing. His steps are cautious, slow, willing the figure in front of him to be exactly who he thinks it is-

“Tommy?”

Then he turns around. And there he is.

He looks a mess. Hair messy and eyes slightly red, dark bags resting underneath them. He’s shivering slightly. There’s a bit of dirt on his shirt, not a ton, but enough that he’s certain he was on the floor.

But it’s Tommy.

“Wil?” He asks, cracking a nervous smile. “What are you doing out h-”

Tommy grunts as Wilbur slams into him, gripping the back of his shirt with tight fingers.

“Christ, Tommy. Jesus Christ,” Wilbur says with a loud laugh, tears dripping down his face. He opens his mouth to say something else and chokes instead. He elects to just hold Tommy tighter instead.

“Hey, Wil,” Tommy says with a wavering voice. “Is everything alright?”

“Are you fucking serious, Tommy?” Wilbur should be looking him in the eyes, letting him know how serious about this he is, but he’s found Tommy, finally, he can’t let go yet. “Fucking christ, Tommy. Why didn’t you pick up any of our calls? Or texts, or anything? We thought you had been fucking kidnapped, Tommy! I’ve been looking for you for the past hour! Philza-” Wilbur cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath. “Fuck, Philza. Hold on.”

Hesitantly, and with shaking hands, he pulls out his phone and types in a group chat.

_ Found Tommy. He is fine. _

He leaves it at that. He can update them all later, once Tommy is home and he doesn’t feel like he’s going to fall underneath his own weight.

Tommy hasn’t said anything. He’s gripping the chains of the swings, and it’s then that Wilbur notices how bruised they are.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Tommy?” He says, motioning to Tommy’s hands, before motioning to the entire area around them. “Jesus fucking christ, Toms, we thought- we all thought-”

He bites his lip. Tears are still rolling down his cheeks, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Tommy.

“I mean, I did, sort of,” Tommy begins weakly.

“Well I wouldn’t have said no if you told me you were on the fucking streets!”

He finally stops looking at Tommy to hide his face in his hands.

God. Fucking Goddamnit.

He takes several deep breaths. He can be upset on the car ride home. For now, Tommy is shivering, and the group is probably worried out of their fucking minds. Getting Tommy home should be the main focus.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s weak, and comes from right across from him. Wilbur drags his palms down his face before looking back up at Tommy.

Tommy isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s back to staring at the dirt beneath him.

Wilbur sighs, ignoring the way his legs shake as he takes a step forward. “Let’s get you home, Tommy.”

Tommy bites his lip and shakes his head, still electing to stare at the ground.

Wilbur hates the amount of deja vu this gives him.

“I can’t, Wil,” he says weakly, with a small pitiful laugh tagged on at the end. “I’m not allowed to go home.”

Wilbur takes another step forward, until he can wrap his arms around Tommy again. He does so.

“It’s alright, Toms. Your mum had me find you. You can… Fuck, Tommy. I would have taken you to my house. Fuck my roomates, I would have given you a place to stay.”

He feels Tommy shrug underneath him.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” His voice cracks.

“No, Tommy. You living on the streets fucking bothers me. You could have gotten hurt, Tommy. Someone could have hurt you, or grabbed you, or kidnapped you- Christ, Tommy, you’re sixteen. You’re not safe out here, I would have fucking let you stay with me. Tubbo would have let you stay with him, Philza would have let you stay, why- why didn’t you walk to any of us, Toms?”

Tommy just shakes his head before burying it into Wilbur’s chest. His shoulders are shaking now.

Wilbur lets his eyes close, bringing up a hand to brush through Tommy’s hair.

They would talk about it, sometime in the future. Sometime when Tommy wasn’t crying, and Wilbur wasn’t desperately trying to keep ahold of himself, and Tommy’s mum wasn’t worried out of her fucking mind.

Wilbur gives Tommy a key to his flat, about a week later. An unspoken invitation. A demand, even.

_ If you’re ever kicked out, don’t you dare sleep on the streets again. Don’t stay anywhere you don’t know is safe. Just stay here. You don’t even need to ask. _

At this very moment, though, Wilbur guides a small, trembling boy into the passenger seat of his car. Under the dark, speckled sky, he turns up the heat.

Finally, in the warm air, sitting safely next to his friend- his brother- he closes his eyes.

Tommy sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 where they talk to him about it??? Maybe?? I feel like a lot of fics pass by the perfect opportunity for angst, AKA the conversation where they finally have to address what happened, but I really wanted to get this one out before I got too busy again. If it sounds interesting, though, I'll do it! If not, we'll skip right on to the next recommendation! Either is completely fine with me, lol.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your love on this fic! I get so giddy every time I get a comment, I absolutely adore you all. And if you comment frequently, I DEFINITELY recognize you. So this one's for you, Gay_Gay_Gay, Lillian_nator, and finniswriting <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are always, always so appreciated! I can't even express how lovely they make me feel.
> 
> Love you all! If you're reading this, get up and get a glass of water, stay hydrated my loves


	11. Where's My Love (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of when Tommy ran away. Wilbur, Techno, Tubbo, and Philza finally decide to address the elephant in the room: Why didn't Tommy tell any of them what had happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUICK NOTE, I HAVE CHANGED MY USERNAME BUT IT IS IN FACT STILL ME!!! I just liked 'SunofIcarus' SO much better. Felt more eloquent, more defined. Plus Icarus is a sick name.
> 
> Also hey, a small trigger warning for this chapter! As mentioned in past chapters, Tommy tends to dig his nails into his skin when he's stressed, but it's especially prominent in this chapter. So just look out for yourself!

If Tommy tried hard enough, he could pretend that everyone had forgotten about the week prior.

He was still fucking exhausted when Wilbur shook him awake and started walking him towards the door of his mum’s house. He hadn’t gotten scolded by his mum, that night. Instead, she hugged him, and cried, and whispered apologies for words spat with venom that never should have even been uttered.

Tommy was tired then, too. But he hugged his mom back until she finally took a breath, sending him upstairs to let his friends know he was alright.

Wilbur must have told them what happened. Tommy’s sure of it. Discord glows a faint orange at the bottom of the screen when he boots up his PC, but there comes a point where the conversations shift.

It stops being, ‘Where are you?’s and ‘tommy if ur out thair come 2 my home’, and becomes ‘Call us when you get home, Tommy’, and ‘glad ur okay tommy :)”.

He did call them. He called, and explained himself, and apologized for worrying them.

And then he went to sleep.

He thought that was all that was needed.

But a week later, and everyone is still acting fucking weird. They ask about school constantly. Try to subtly slip in that their house is open to Tommy whenever he needs it. End every call with an “I love you,” or “I’m proud of you.”

He elects to ignore it. Soon, everyone will forget about what happened, and everyone will go back to normal. Stop lathering him with pity-praise and go back to teasing him.

It’s what he hoped for, anyway. And for a few days, he believed his plan would work.

That was before it all came gently crumbling down.

Maybe he should have known by the looks Tubbo was giving him during school. Concerned, and nervous, with an edge that implied an anxious anticipation.

He hugged him, before they parted their separate ways, with a promise to talk later into the day.

That was the other thing Tubbo had started to do. Little promises, at the end of each day. Promises to talk, or stream together, or try to tutor each other in subjects the other didn’t quite understand. Tubbo’s own way of getting him to communicate if anything happened, he supposes.

Yet, he still didn’t suspect anything when he got on the computer. He opened Discord, frowned at the daily message asking how school was, as per usual.

It wasn’t until after Tommy responded (a typical message of “it was fine, nothing unusual”) that everything started to slowly fragment and fall.

They were in a VC. All four of them. Wilbur, Techno, and Philza, all lined up in a row to the left side of Discord. Which wasn’t unusual, per say. They were all friends, after all.

Tommy made no action to join. He had been avoiding voice chatting with any of them (aside from Tubbo, who wouldn’t have let that slide any time soon). He could hide in texts, change subjects or ignore messages like it was the most casual thing in the world. There was nowhere to hide in a phone call. Nowhere easy, anyway.

The chat is easy to ignore. Or it would be, anyway, if not for the message he gets immediately after he sends his text about school.

_Join vc 2._

Tommy laughs to himself nervously.

 _What the fuck. What the_ fuck.

He can feel his heart starting to thump in his chest, so he presses his nails against his skin in an effort to ground himself.

 _It’s probably fine,_ Tommy thinks. _They probably just want to chat about videos, or streams. Or maybe even just have a nice conversation between all of us._

Taking a deep breath, he joins a voice chat for the first time in a week.

The silence that overtakes him immediately lets him know he was wrong. Any signs of casual conversation, or video critiques, or stream ideas are nonexistent. For a split second, all he can hear is slight shuffling, and a sort of anxious breathing that fills the call with an imminent sense of dread.

They were waiting. Waiting for him.

“Tommy,” Philza says, finally seeing him enter, and Tommy almost winces. There was a part of him that was hoping he would be able to leave the call before anyone saw he even went into it.

“What’s up, Big Man?” He says with a laugh, trying to stir up any semblance of normalcy in their small group.

No one laughs with him.

“Are you busy, Toms?” Wilbur starts. The nickname was meant to ease Tommy, he knows it, but he just feels more on guard. His heart practically twists in his chest, setting a strong rhythm that bumps against his chest. Wilbur sounds too concerned for this to be normal.

“Um- Yeah, actually, I was just about to work on something real quick. Homework, you know how it is, so I’m probably just going to leave.”

“You said you weren’t busy, Tommy,” Tubbo says. “You said that we could talk today because you didn’t have anything going on.”

Tommy curses himself. Of course he fucking did.

“Well no offense, Tubbo, but at the time I didn’t know that you were asking so we could all talk at once. It’s just sort of distracting like that-”

“Is there a reason you’re avoiding us, Tommy?”

He falters mid-sentence.

“Tubbo, I- I’m not avoiding you all. It’s not my fault I have schoolwork, you can hardly blame that on me-”

“Tommy,” Philza interrupts. “I get it. I understand that you’re busy with school and all. Can we just have a few minutes to talk? Please?”

He’s slightly aware that his fingernails are digging deeper into his skin. He can’t bring himself to care.

“Fine, fine,” he responds lightly. “Honestly, I didn’t know I was so popular. I know I’m just a big man like that, but I never knew to this degree.”

God, it’s almost fucking painful. No one laughs, no one says anything back. The silence is so thickening Tommy feels like he’s going to choke on it.

“I’m gonna cut the bullshit,” Techno finally speaks, his voice low and almost… serious. Tommy hates it. “We need to talk about last week.”

There’s only a split second of shocked silence before Tommy rushes in. “I really don’t think we do,” he says quickly. “Look, it was a one-time thing, and we fixed it! I’m all good now! So it really doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does matter though, Tommy,” Wilbur says. “It’s not just that you got kicked out, it’s just… Why didn’t you come to any of us?”

He’s gripping his arms like a fucking lifeline.

“Guys, please,” Tommy tries. “It’s really not a big deal-”

“You disappeared for an entire night,” Philza interrupts. “How is that not a big deal?”

“No, I- I know, but you guys have let me know that I shouldn’t do that, so now I’m better-”

“We’re just concerned for you, Tommy.” Tubbo, this time. “We were really scared for you. It just seems like a bigger issue than not calling us-”

“I think I know what counts as a big issue, Big T.”

His fucking heart hurts. He can feel his palms starting to sweat, but if he removes the nails from his skin who knows what’ll happen. He needs that stinging sensation to keep him here- To keep him painfully aware of the situation he’s in.

“Tubbo’s just trying to help, Tommy.” _Wilbur._

“Well I don’t need help, so you all can go back to whatever you were doing before this, because I’m _fine._ ”

“Kid, you’re obviously not. You could have called any one of us that night-”

“My phone was dead-”

“You could have _walked._ ”

Tommy almost misses the silence from earlier, because the tension in his throat is now a thick panic, and his hands are still shaking no matter how hard his nails pierce his skin, and his heart is pounding in his chest like he’s running out of time, it feels like he’s running out of time, _why does it feel like he’s running out of time-_

“Why are you even in this conversation, Techno? You live in America, you couldn’t have done shit-”

“Tommy,” Wilbur says, an edge of warning in his voice. “We’re just trying to help you-”

“I don’t need help!”

“Hey, hey, let’s all settle down,” Philza interjects, “I think we all-”

“If you didn’t need help you wouldn’t have been kicked out in the first place-”

“Well I’m sorry I’m the fuck-up, then!”

It stops. Just like that.

The trashing of his heart stops almost immediately. It stutters to a stop, instead. He feels fucking frozen. He takes a breath, but it catches on the lump in his throat and he has to stifle a sob.

“I-” He tries, but his voice immediately cracks. He rubs his eyes angrily, holding tears behind his eyelids.

“I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up that I got kicked out, and got lost, and then couldn’t even call you guys because I’m such a disappointment that I couldn’t look you guys in the eyes, and I didn’t want to see you guys realize how much of a fucking idiot I am in person-”

His voice catches again, so he stops speaking. He’s said enough, anyway. More than he should’ve said, and he’s probably disappointed them _again,_ because he can’t do anything right-

“Tommy,” Tubbo’s small voice comes out, slightly uneven. “You’re not a fuck-up. Who ever said that you’re a fuck-up?”

He doesn’t bother responding. The tears are pushing past his lashes, hot and gentle and oh-so-wretchedly stupid that he just watches as they drip onto the desk below him.

“Oh, Tommy,” Philza murmurs. “Why do you think that? You’re not a fuck-up, or a disappointment. We would never think that about you.”

Tommy can’t help the watery laugh that slips from his lips. It’s just… It feels like such a fucking lie.

There’s a lull of silence, and he thinks they’re waiting for him to say something. He doesn’t. He can’t.

“We’d never be disappointed in you for something like this, Toms,” Wilbur says gently. “We’ve never gotten upset with you for stuff like this before.”

Tommy shakes his head, a small, desolate thing. “It just- it feels like you have.”

“It feels like we’ve gotten upset with you?”

“No, just-” Tommy huffs. Why is it so fucking hard to talk about what he means? “Like yeah, maybe you weren’t upset or disappointed the first time, but I keep fucking doing it, I keep making the same damn mistakes, so of course you guys would be disappointed in me, because who wouldn’t be?”

“I’m not,” Tubbo says, and it sounds even weaker than before.

“Listen, Tommy,” Techno says deeply. “You really think something like that would change our opinion about you? You’re like family, kid, we wouldn’t abandon you because you gave a kid a black eye or some shit.”

 _Family._ He can’t quite decide where the word settles with him. It’s usually a title he wears with pride, one that settles around his ribcage and holds up his heart.

It’s sharper, this time. He doesn’t know whether for good or bad yet.

“But… but none of you guys mess up like me, I just cause problems for you guys.”

“Bloody hell, all of us fuck up, like, all the time. Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t notice. You don’t have to be ashamed for messing up, it’s human. We’re all human, Tommy.”

Tommy’s breath slips as the tears become more consistent this time.

“I just don’t want to be a disappointment. Or a burden.”

“Tommy,” Tubbo speaks, and his voice is so uneven Tommy suspects he may have been crying, “you’ve never been a disappointment. You’re my best friend, Tommy, I- I don’t think you could disappoint me if you tried, you know? I love you, we- we all love you. You’re not a burden for needing help. We’re all willing to help.” And then, for final measure, repeating the mantra so it slips alongside the title of _family_ woven into Tommy’s chest, “We love you, Tommy.”

The tears flow freely, after that. Tommy cries, a beautiful fusion of regret and pain and love and care that seeps through his skin and spills over his cheeks. He cries as his friends, his family, tell him how proud they are of him, how well he’s doing. How they’ll always be there for him.

It’s foolish, to think that the reassurance he currently feels will last forever. That he’ll never doubt them again, that he’ll never let himself fall and sink by himself.

But tonight he has them. And tonight lasts until Tommy eventually nods off, soft lines from his tears still visible.

The reassurance was there tonight.

And it’ll be there every night after that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! I have a few notes here, so let's go down the list.
> 
> First, your guys' support and feedback has been INCREDIBLE. You guys make my day so much brighter. From comments describing exactly what lines had them crying, to comments just saying "Pog", it's all made me feel so wonderful. I absolutely love you all, and can't express enough how thankful I am for the support.
> 
> Second, please let me know how you feel about this chapter! I know it's a different sort of feel than my other chapters, and I'm unexperienced in writing the comfort part in this much detail, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. Good or bad, I accept both! I do apologize if this chapter didn't live up to last chapter, or what you wanted this chapter to be.
> 
> Third, I wanted to get your guys' opinions. I'm thinking of making a separate oneshot book based off of poetry I've written (Still centered around SBI family dynamics!). I considered doing it in this, but if it's popular enough, I would do it more frequently, which would just crowd up this one. Would you all mind if I experiment with this next chapter? Or would you prefer I keep it completely separate? Either way is fine, I just thought I would ask so this book of oneshots can be the best it possibly can be.
> 
> Once again, thank you all SO much. Please know I take note of every comment, suggestion, and recommendation! (Yes, I have a list, yes, if you've suggested something, you're on it!) You all fill my life with absolute light. Love you all, my loves!
> 
> (oh, and in case you didn't read the first note, I changed my username! Still the same author tho)


	12. Before the Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur helps Tommy with parking-practice, and Tommy admits why he's so adamant on getting his license.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of suggested by @theabbsofsteel ? They asked for Wilbur teaching Tommy how to drive, and this was the closest thing that made sense for what I'm doing with this little car plot.
> 
> Just fluff! But mayhaps leading to an angstier chapter next...

“Everything alright, Tommy?”

They haven’t even reached the school parking lot yet and Tommy’s already fidgeting up a storm. Wilbur risks a glance towards Tommy as he stops at a stop sign. “We’ll just be in a parking lot, there’s really nothing to worry about.”

“I know that, bitch,” Tommy huffs. Though his usage of curse words reassures Wilbur, his silence afterwards doesn’t.

“It’s just parking, Toms, it’s not like you’re learning how to drag race.”

“I’m fucking fine, I told you!” Tommy exclaims, lightly slapping Wilbur on the arm. “Nobody likes parking, why are you acting like it’s weird that I don’t want to park?”

“It’s not weird that you don’t want to park, what’s weird is that you look two seconds away from shitting your pants.”

Perhaps a bit dramatic, but not too far from the truth. Tommy’s had a sort of scowl on his face since he got into the car, like he was constipated or something.

Tommy doesn’t respond, though, as they’re already pulling into the school parking lot. It’s a Saturday, which is evidenced by the empty lot. The school, thankfully, had taken it upon themselves to designate a section of pavement for parking purposes. Orange cones line the parking spaces, both in the shape of a normal parking job and parallel parking. Wilbur parks next to them.

“Alright, Toms, get out! Time to switch spots!”

They switch places, Wilbur hopping into the passenger seat while Tommy begrudgingly crawls into the driver's seat.

“Well come on, the cones are right there.”

“I know, bitch! Just give me a second.”

He glares at the cones as he puts the car into drive, as though the cones will simply wilt away if he stares at them hard enough. They don’t, though, so Tommy continues to pull forward.

By all means, Tommy should know how to do this by now. He’s been driving for a year or two, already having his provisional license, even if he doesn’t have a car.

Tommy is fine with everything else. He knows when to stop, and what speed to go, and how to check your blind spots. He just also parks a thousand miles away from any other cars. Parallel parking was a no-go, and any parking job where he couldn’t pull through wouldn’t happen either.

Wilbur knew about Tommy’s apprehension for parking, yet it was Tommy who had reached out asking for help. His test was soon, apparently, and he wasn’t willing to risk failing the test because he didn’t know how to park.

“Fuck.”

Wilbur blinks back into focus again. Tommy’s officially knocked over a cone with the back of the car. Wilbur dutifully hops out of the car, picks up the cone, and places it upright again. After making sure it’s in the correct spot, he opens the door and slides back in.

“Alright, Toms! Try again!”

***

Tommy does, in fact, try again. And again, and again, and again, until Tommy has parks perfectly almost every single time.

It’s the reason Wilbur frowns as Tommy pulls out of the space, circles around, and starts parking again.

“I think you’ve got it, Tommy,” he chuckles. “We’ve been here for two hours already, you haven’t hit a cone in the past twenty. I think you’re good.”

Tommy shakes his head with a huff. “I can’t! I have my test tomorrow, and if I fail it then I have to wait forever to reschedule it.”

“And?”

“Wh- So I don’t want to do that! That would suck shit!” Tommy puts the car in drive and begins to make another loop. “I just want to make sure I can do it right.”

“I mean, it’s really not that big of a deal,” Wilbur says, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. “Driving isn’t that cool. You don’t have a car of your own, anyway, so it’s not like you can go out whenever.”

“I could buy a car!”  
Wilbur shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Still don’t have one right now, though. Hardly matters if you get your license this week or this month.”

Tommy hums aggressively, and then a silence overtakes them.

“I mean…”

Wilbur glances at Tommy as he falters.

“Yeah?”

Tommy’s face goes red. “I mean, it’s cool when you drive. You know. So… I just thought it’d be cool if I learned how to drive too.”

For a moment, Wilbur can only stare at him wide-eyed. Then he laughs, and laughs, until Tommy’s parked the car to pout because Wilbur is still laughing.

“Tommy, what?” He manages to say between breaths. “You think I’m cool because I drive a car?”

“No!” Tommy sputters. “I just- Shut up, bitch!”

“Awe, Tommy!” Wilbur laughs. “It’s okay! I’m very cool, and very, very good at driving a car, I know-”

“Shut up, Wil,” Tommy grumbles.

He takes a last, dramatic breath, before shaking his head. “Seriously though, I think you’ve got the parking down. You’re gonna do great, Tommy.” He puts a hand on Tommy’s arm. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Tommy stares at him with furrowed brows, before letting out a sigh. “Fine. I guess we can go home now.”

“And then when you pass, maybe you’ll be as cool as me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wilbur!”

***

The next day, Wilbur receives a picture from Tommy. He’s smiling, mouth wide and showing teeth, holding up a small slip of paper.

**Tommyinnit:** _ I PASSED, POGCHAMP _

**WilburSoot:** _ congrats, tommy! _

**WilburSoot:** _you’re officially cool now_

(Even though he’d never admit it, Wilbur thinks he’s been cool all along.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter y'all, I know, I know, but I already have the next chapter written out on paper, just need to type it up. Hoping to get it out in a few days, which, since I'm on break now, should be possible.
> 
> (Oh, psst, if you want a sort of sneak peak on the next chapter, listen to Carl Sagan's Smoking Chair by Levi The Poet, which was my inspo for this two-parter)
> 
> If I promoted my twitter, would y'all follow? Sometimes I wanna ask you guys things, or like get your opinion, and obviously it's hard to do that on a posting-basis. But like not sure if anyone would be actually be interested, so thought I would throw the idea out.
> 
> Let me know what y'all think! Comments, kudos, bookmarks, the whole spiel. Which, speaking of, who was gonna tell me to look at my hits???? This work has reached like 20,000 hits??? That's CRAZY, y'all, thank you so much!! I appreciate all of you, whether you're a silent reader, a reoccurring face in my comments, have left kudos, bookmarked it with a funny description, etc. You all make me feel so wonderful about my work, thank you all so much.
> 
> Be posting soon!


	13. And Soon After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collision leaves Tommy comatose. Wilbur struggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW!! Mentions of death, very small suicidal ideation, guilt and such. Not sure if any of it is drastic enough to warrant a content warning, but I thought it was better to be safe than sorry!
> 
> (Also sorry if the hospital bits are unrealistic, have never gotten into a crash so bad I went to the hospital so tbh have no clue how it works)

The lights in front of Tommy could have been stars or streetlamps. He didn’t know. The spots of light go too fast for him to determine, and are too often interrupted by flashes of pavement for him to look long enough to know. He’s raised, floating, like an astronaut, an illusion that’s quickly defiled by the sound of shattering glass.

Metal crunches. He’s pulled back into his seat roughly before his head flings forward.

And then there’s nothing.

***

Wilbur slowly blinks at the television screen across from him. He can’t really bring himself to focus on any of it. It’s late, and his house is warm, and the warm yellow glow of the lamp next to him pulls him into a tired state of being. He’s tempted to nod off right on the couch. It’s as his head dips, eyes fluttering shut, that his phone rings out.

Wilbur jerks up before internally groaning.

The phone was all the way across the couch. Surely, whoever was calling could wait until the next day. Even just a few hours, until Wilbur wakes up in the night to stumble his way to his bedroom.

So he lets it ring until the sound stops. He takes a deep, gentle breath and lets his eyes close again.

He gets about two seconds of peace before the phone rings out again.

He lets a small puff of air out of his nose. It must be someone he knows, if they’re calling twice in a row like this. So, hardly opening his eyes, he reaches across the cushions and blindly feels for his phone. Once in his grip, he answers without even looking at the phone.

“Hello?”

“Wilbur?”

Any ounce of exhaustion leaves Wilbur’s body as the voice comes through the receiver. It’s a woman’s voice, scratchy and desperate, and all Wilbur can feel now is fear.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s- it’s Tommy’s mum, please- Tommy-” She tries to keep speaking, but chokes. Wilbur can hear her sputtering.

“Is Tommy alright?” Wilbur asks, but he doesn’t need to wait for her response to know the answer. He’s already slipping on a pair of old boots with one hand, clutching the phone in a white-knuckled grip in the other.

“Please- Wilbur, please, we- We’re a few hours out, we can’t get to him in time, please-”

His heart fucking drops. Past his stomach and past his shoes, all the way to the ground beneath him.

_We can’t get to him in time._

_In time._

“Oh God, what happened?” He needs to stay calm for her, needs to stay calm for Tommy, but he can’t keep the tremor out of his voice.

“Wilbur, please, he’s at the hospital- He doesn’t like needles, he needs someone there with him, please-”

“What happened?” He says urgently. He slams the door open and sprints out, not bothering to lock the door behind him. People can take his shit, they can take everything he owns. He can’t bring himself to care about that right now.

Another sob rings through the receiver, and he can hear it be choked down. “He crashed, he- they say his car flipped, it was a collision, they won’t- Wilbur, they won’t tell me if he’s okay, I need to know if he’s okay-”

“That- Okay, where is he?”

She stammers out an address, and Wilbur’s hands are shaking so violently he has to type it three times before it’s spelled correctly.

He’s trying to go as fast as he can, passing people on the road going any slower than ten miles over the speed limit. But all he can think of is blue eyes, poofy blond hair, lanky fucking body that certainly, certainly, couldn’t take the crushing of metal into his skin-

He shakes his head, blinking away the tears that had formed in his eyes. He can’t think about it right now. It’ll just slow him down.

He drives until he reaches the hospital, pulling into the first available spot. His legs fucking ache as he sprints into the building, hoping and praying to any God that will hear his pleas that Tommy is okay-

He doesn’t even need to be okay. Right now, he just needs to be alive.

The bright luminescence of the hospital feels blinding compared to the darkness outside. There’s a line near the front desk, and Wilbur almost cries. He shifts from heel to heel, waiting impatiently as the people in front of him shuffle forward. Finally, he gets to the front.

“I’m here for Tommy.”

The lady looks at him unimpressed. “Thomas Smith?”

He nods. “Yes, I- I’m a guardian, his mom told me about what happened, can I please see him-”

The lady raises a placating hand. “It’s alright, sir, calm down.”

He doesn’t, but he does stop speaking.

“Let me call for his room.” She leans over and picks up a big, bulky phone, types in a few numbers, and puts it to her ear. She’s going casually, almost slow, and Wilbur sort of wants to strangle her for it. He takes to closing his hands into tight fists instead. She asks a few questions, nodding at some points and humming at others, until she finally hangs up. She looks at Wilbur with a small frown. “Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to tell you Mr. Smith’s condition. Mr. Smith is actually in surgery, right now. The best I can tell you is that he’s still alive.”

The _for now_ goes unsaid. He knows it's there.

“If you’d like to sit down and wait for him, sir, you can. Someone will come out to let you know when you can see him.”

He’s trembling, shaking so hard he’s not certain he won’t fall apart. The journey towards a stiff hospital chair feels like a fever dream.

He types out a quick message to Tommy’s mum without really thinking about it. He can hardly think of anything. It feels as though his brain is stuffed with feathers, making it impossible to think about anything.

Almost anything, anyway. There’s a distinct repetition in the thoughts that cross his mind.

All he can think of is blue eyes, blond hair, pale skin. Blue eyes, blond hair, pale skin, bloody, broken skin- Blue, blond, pale, blue, blond, bruised-

It repeats endlessly in his mind, and he can’t get it to stop. He sees the flashes of red in his mind, a vicious neon against the white of Tommy’s flesh, but his brain never gets past that. Never lets him think of what it’s implying. Simply provides the image before ripping it away, before handing it back like a fucked-up carousel.

“Wilbur?”

He blinks. There, right in front of him as he lifts his head, are Tommy’s parents.

The first thing Wilbur feels is shock. They were hours away, supposedly, which meant that Wilbur had been sitting here for much longer than he had thought.

Then he sees the tear-stained cheeks, red eyes, dark under bags, and all he feels then is an overwhelming sense of doom.

Wilbur stands, and his knees almost give out beneath him. He manages to catch himself, though hardly thinks anything of it as he asks breathlessly, “Did you talk to the woman about Tommy? Is he- is he alright?”

Mrs. Smith shakes her head gently. “They didn’t tell us much. He’s still in surgery, apparently, so-” her voice cracks, for a moment, and Mr. Smith wraps an arm around her shoulder. “So we still have to wait for that to finish. Apparently a few of his ribs were broken. They didn’t tell me anything else.”

Wilbur nods, tight-lipped. Mr. Smith grips her arm for a moment, before turning to look at Wilbur. “You should go home, Mr. Soot. You’ve already been here for a few hours, you should go home and get rest.”

Wilbur shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, it’s alright. I need to know if he’s alright, I should be here when he wakes up.”

The man smiles gently at him. “I know, Wilbur. But I’m sure Tommy would rather see you in good health. To be honest, he’ll, uh. He’ll probably need you to pick him back up. I can’t imagine he’ll be feeling very well when he wakes up.”

It’s… Understandable. And probably true. So with a deep rooted sickness in his stomach, he gets up and walks to his car.

The drive home is silent. He doesn’t play any music. Just listens to the sound of pavement rumble underneath his tires. He blinks, and he’s home. The stuffing in his head had returned, along with the flashing familiar visions.

Blond. Blue. Pale. Bruised.

The door clicks softly behind him as he enters. He stands in the doorway, hand still on the cold metal of the door handle. It’s dark, in the house. The only light shines through the open window. He takes an unsteady step forward. His legs shake as he stumbles to the couch.

And then he sees it.

It’s on the chair across from him. A bright red, long-sleeved hoodie, resting on the arm of the chair. He picks it up, feels the softness of the fabric between his fingers. It’s Tommy’s. He had left it here on accident the last time he had visited, a week or two ago.

Blue. Blond. Pale. Bruised.

Tommy’s hoodie is between his fingers.

It’s the first time his mind has finally come to the conclusion.

Tommyinnit could die.

Tommyinnit could already be dead.

If Tommy dies, this is the only thing he’ll have left of him.

It’s also the first time Wilbur breaks down that day.

Tears stream down his face, air stuck in his lungs and he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe-

He holds the hoodie as though it were Tommy himself and cries.

***

Tommy doesn’t wake up the second day. Wilbur visits anyway. They say he’s in a coma. They don’t know when he’ll wake up. _If_ he’ll wake up.

Tommy looks wretched. He’s bruised to all hell, hair matted to his forehead, cuts and scrapes scattering almost every inch of skin. They say it was the glass. His chest is wrapped in bandages. His nose had broken upon impact with the airbag, so it’s covered in a mass of bandages and tape.

Wilbur sits in a stiff chair by his bedside, waiting for any sign of the boy awakening. A sign never comes. The doctors come in and tell him they need to run more tests. Wilbur leaves.

He comes home and cries again. The great Tommyinnit, cursed to lay in a coma until the fates allow him to finally rise.

Wilbur is the one who has to reach out to everyone else. He sends a single message to the group discord, simple and blunt.

_Tommy got into a car crash and is in a coma._

He then mutes the chat.

Perhaps it’s unfair to drop something like that and then immediately leave. They’re probably depending on him for updates, for some sort of further details.

He doesn’t have any.

So he drops the phone at the end of his bed and ignores the guilt of leaving his friends after such a monumental text.

He falls asleep crying, clutching Tommy’s hoodie in his grip again.

***

Tommy doesn’t wake up the third day.

The sun rises and sets, and Wilbur sits next to Tommy for as long as he’s allowed to. Tommy doesn’t move.

Visitor hours end, and Wilbur goes home. He doesn’t bother turning on any lights as he enters the house. It feels wrong to turn them on.

As he sits on the edge of his bed, hands already reaching towards the red hoodie piled next to him, his eyes catch on the guitar leaning against the wall.

He wonders if Tommy’s going to become lyrics in the fucked up strum of a melody. Tommy always did like his music.

***

Tommy doesn’t wake up the fourth day.

His parents are starting to worry about Wilbur, but he can’t bring himself to truly care. They ask him when he last ate. He doesn’t know. They ask if he’s been getting rest. He knows the bags under his eyes already tell them their answer . They beg him to go home, so he does. He lies in bed and stares at the ceiling, darkness enveloping him. He doesn’t sleep.

***

Tommy doesn’t wake up the fifth day.

A hand on Wilbur’s shoulder interrupts his routine of intensely watching Tommy. He turns, only slightly, and meets red hair and a gentle smile.

Philza cries, then, and Wilbur is vaguely aware of tears going down his own cheeks.

The man explains that they were all worried. That after Wilbur’s silence, they had assumed the worst.

Tubbo had been forced to reach out to Tommy’s parents to ask for updates, and the guilt that Wilbur had pushed away a few days ago arises again.

Tubbo was just a kid. A kid shouldn’t have to ask his friend’s parents if his friend was still alive.

Even with Tubbo’s assurance that Tommy was still breathing, everyone was still coming. Philza had just been the first.

Techno was coming, Dream was coming, Quackity was coming. That, with Tommy’s life… at risk, Philza says, that they wanted to come down and see him. They were going to stay with Philza.

Apparently, Tubbo had been desperately trying to visit Tommy, but had been unable to due to Tommy’s parents. They insisted he wait a day or two.

“Wil,” Philza says gently, “I feel like I should come stay with you. For at least a few days.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow slightly at this, but he can’t put too much heart into it. “Why?” He croaks out, his voice worn from lack of use.

“I’m just worried for you, Wilbur. You look- I mean, to put it lightly, you look like shit.”

He couldn’t deny it. He can’t manage to shower, or fix his hair. He’s wearing the same outfit he was two days ago, not having enough energy to do anything past fall into bed and cry some more.

So Wilbur shrugs. “You can. If you want.”

***

Tommy doesn’t wake up the sixth day.

Wilbur repeats the same routine as the past five days, only with the addition of Phil.

Phil tries to get him to eat on the car-ride to the hospital. Wilbur can’t. He doesn’t have the appetite.

Tubbo arrives a few hours after Wilbur and Philza do. He’s crying before he even enters the door, and he cries even harder upon seeing Tommy.

Tubbo’s parents are there, holding him, keeping him from throwing himself onto Tommy and irritating his injuries.

All Wilbur and Philza can do is watch.

***

Tommy doesn’t wake up on the seventh day.

Philza enters Wilbur’s room that night. Wilbur makes no attempt to silence the sobs that had been echoing through the house already. He’s aware he’s soaking the hoodie clutched in his arms, and there’s a part of him that hates himself for it.

“It’s alright, Wilbur. It’s alright,” Philza says gently, and even though he can hardly see through the blur of tears and the darkness of the room, he knows Philza is crying too.

Wilbur clutches the hoodie before pushing it towards Philza, opening his mouth to explain that it’s Tommy’s, and if Tommy leaves them, all he’ll have left is a stupid fucking piece of fabric. The same bright, obnoxious red that will always remind him of Tommy, and haunt him every time he sees it. He doesn’t get any of that out. He opens his mouth and chokes instead.

“C’mere, Wil,” Philza says, opening his arms, and Wilbur wastes no time falling into them.

Gasping for air, Wilbur finally manages to speak.

“It should have been me. It should have been me, Phil, it should have been me-”

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, Wil. You’re alright. It’s not your fault.”

Wilbur screams as Philza runs his hands through his messy hair.

***

Wilbur twitches awake to the sound of his phone ringing. Philza, who’s arms are still wrapped around him, seems to stir too.

Wilbur feels like he could drop dead, but he drags himself to the phone anyway.

“Hello?” He says groggily.

“Mr. Soot,” a female voice says, and if Wilbur was tired before he’s as awake as he’s ever been now. “Tommy is awake.”

***

The last time Wilbur drove to the hospital this fast was when Tommy first entered it.

“Jesus, Wilbur, slow down-”

Wilbur blatantly ignores Philza’s suggestion.

He has to get there as soon as possible. Because what if he gets there and Tommy’s gone back to sleep, back to that comatose state?

His wheels practically screech with how fast he pulls into a parking space. It’s two in the morning, yet for the first time all week, Wilbur doesn’t feel tired.

It’s so similar, so fucking similar to the first day, sprinting towards the hospital doors on shaky legs, threatening to fall at any moment, but this time his chest clenches in a hope that’s finally coming to fruition.

It’s not visitor hours, not even fucking close, but apparently Tommy’s parents had already thrown such a big fuss that they were allowed in. They didn’t try to fight with Wilbur when he told them they were here to see Tommy too.

And then he’s being led down the hall to Tommy’s room, a route he has become quite familiar with, and he’s shaking so bad that Philza has to put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from crumbling, and then-

And then there’s Tommy.

Blond. Blue. Pale. Bruised.

But oh, so _alive._

His parents are already there, clutching his hand, sobbing, murmuring apologies and stories and scoldings. Tommy’s smiling tiredly at them, eyes half-lidded - _They’re open, though, and holy shit, how Wilbur had been praying to see his eyes open again_ \- and fluttering.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Philza breathes behind him, and the sound finally alerts Tommy to their presence.

He smiles. “Hey, guys.”

Wilbur can’t stop the sob from escaping his throat. And maybe he should feel embarrassed by it, but all he can feel is fucking relieved.

He runs forward to Tommy, and within a second he has him right between his arms, the real, alive Tommyinnit, not just a fucking hoodie, something alive and well-

Tommy hugs back weakly. “Nice to see you, Big Man.”

Wilbur can only reply with a watery laugh as he holds onto Tommy tighter.

Blond hair, tangled and greasy, blue eyes that stared back at Wilbur’s with the vaguest sense of amusement. Pale skin, littered with bruises that _Could never stop me, Wilbur! I’m a Big Man, I could never be destroyed by a stuid vehicle_.

Blond, blue, pale, bruised.

But awake, and breathing, and alive.

Tommy was okay.

“You smell like shit, Wilbur.”

Yeah. Tommy was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! Let me know how you guys feel about this chapter! I'm not positive on whether I like it or not. I think this counts as Wilbur angst? Not positive, though...
> 
> Thank you all for your support! I truly can't even put into words how much these comments, kudos, and bookmarks mean to me.
> 
> Got a long list of recommendations, but feel free to ask for somethin if you wanna see it! I got a big-boy google doc I put everything on, so no suggestion is forgotten.
> 
> Alright y'all, drink water and stay cool B-)


	14. Sleep Looks Too Similar to Back Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy wants to drive freely after his incident, but Wilbur can't even see him sleep without panicking.

Tommy huffs a sigh as he shifts on the school lot. He had been standing for a few minutes, now, waiting for Wilbur to pick him up from. His parents had both had work meetings, leaving only the curly-haired man available.

Well. That wasn’t necessarily true. Tommy had his license, he could still drive himself. Sure, he didn’t have a car anymore, but he made more than enough money from Youtube and streaming for that to be a problem. His parents had both said a resounding no when he brought it up, though, and Wilbur paled so fast Tommy wasn’t certain he wasn’t going to faint right in front of him.

Maybe he would have been fearful to drive, too, if he actually remembered what happened. He remembers driving in the dark, then a car coming at him, lights, and then-

And then waking up groggily in a white room.

His parents say he was out for a week.

It felt impossible (and slightly embarrassing, thinking of all of the nurses and doctors who had to take care of him).

The whole thing felt impossible. Tommy doesn’t think he would be taking it very seriously if not for the people around him.

I mean, what was the big deal? His nose and ribs had broken, which was annoying, but nothing that wouldn’t be okay within a matter of weeks. And really, the coma for him had felt no longer than a short nap. Maybe an hour, at most.

The crash hadn’t been his fault. And the chances of it were so slim that really, what were the chances of it happening a second time?

He just wants freedom. Freedom to drive for hours on end, to go wherever he wanted without having to have an adult drive him around. To work around his schedule and no one else's. Tommy did prefer going out with other people, but the thought of going to the shops himself sometimes was nice.

A honk in front of him interrupts his stream of thoughts, though, and Tommy realizes Wilbur’s car is standing in front of him.

He’ll have to think about driving again later.

***

_Tommy, lying weak in a hospital bed, didn’t understand why Philza Minecraft had come in with a man he’d never seen before._

_Tall, with straight brown hair that sat unruly on his head. Almost like Wilbur, and though the thought made him smile slightly, the confusion overtook his features._

_The mystery man looks at Tommy and winces, muttering, “Jesus Christ, Tommy.”_

_That was enough for it to click in Tommy’s head. He had only seen the face of Technoblade once or twice, in blurry videos that had circulated online, but Techno never used his face-cam when calling any of them._

_The voice, however, was a dead giveaway._

_“Technoblade?” Tommy says incredulously, and he’s struggling to keep the manic grin off of his face._

_“Hullo,” he says, and Tommy can tell that he’s still distractedly looking him over._

_Philza pats Techno on the shoulder before pulling up a chair next to Tommy’s bedside. “Sorry we’re late to visit today, Tommy. Had to pick up Techno from the airport.”_

_“The Blade!” Tommy says with a deep rumble, and Techno frowns. “I can’t believe you’ve come all the way out to see me!”_

_“Well yeah, Tommy, we sort of thought you were dead and shit.”_

_Ah. So Techno wasn’t in the mood to joke._

_Tommy lets his smile falter, but doesn’t let it completely fall. “Yeah, well, I’m alive! Alive and well, brand new and all that shit. They’ve been giving me all sorts of drugs, Techno, it’s amazing.”_

_He almost tacks on at the end that if he had known that a car accident was all that was needed to get infinite drugs, he would have crashed sooner. He doesn’t, though. He has a feeling Techno wouldn’t find it very funny._

_Techno just sighs, awkwardly patting Tommy’s leg._

_“I’m glad you’re okay, Tommy.”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”_

***

Wilbur wasn’t surprised that about halfway through their movie night, Tommy fell asleep. Tommy’s life had been quite busy, after all, with college, streaming, doctor’s appointments and all that. He’s lying on a couch opposite to Wilbur’s chair, so it was easy to see his limp form and closed eyes. Wilbur smiles gently at the sight, reaching towards the remote to turn off the television.

He stretches with a sigh as he gets off of the couch. The room reeks of popcorn and whatever other candies they could find. He picks up a few soda cans permeating the area, heading towards the kitchen to throw them away.

Yawning, he walks back towards his chair. It’s late enough, he supposes, and without Tommy being awake there was really no point in finishing the movie.

He smiles gently at Tommy. His chest rises and falls evenly. He’s lying on his back, one of his arms splayed over his head with the other resting on his chest.

He looks peaceful. He looks…

He looks asleep.

Wilbur can feel his heart drop slightly in his chest.

But right now isn’t back then. Tommy isn’t comatose, right now. He’s sleeping normally, like everyone else. Tommyinnit, sleeping on his couch, blond hair pressed against the cushions-

Blond. Blond, blue-

Wilbur shakes his head. _It’s fine. It’s fine, he’s fine. He’s just sleeping. He can wake up. He will wake up, in just a few hours._

_But… But what if he doesn’t? What if I try to shake him awake and he just doesn’t wake up? How do I know he’ll wake up?_

His hands are starting to shake. It’s as though the edges of his vision are going dark, because all he can see is the gentle rise and fall of Tommy’s chest, just like back then, _just like back then_ -

“Tommy,” Wilbur whispers. Tommy doesn’t stir. It’s fine though, it’s fine, because Wilbur had been pretty gentle when he called out to him. “Tommy,” he tries again, harsher this time, a bit louder.

Tommy still doesn’t wake up.

“Tommy?” Wilbur goes up to a mumble this time. “Tommy- Tommy, get up. Tommy, wake up, I’m being serious.” Wilbur stumbled over to Tommy, tripping over plates of food and old candy boxes, and is now shaking his shoulder. “Tommy, get _up_ -”

Tommy’s body jolts as his eyes pop open. He’s quick to rise, looking at Wilbur in a panic. He’s sure the panic is mirrored in his own face right now.

“Wilbur?” Tommy says. “What the fuck, man, you scared the shit out of me! What the hell is the problem?”

Wilbur can’t even answer.

Tommy is okay. Tommy woke up, of course Tommy woke up.

“Wilbur? You’ve been staring at me for a hot minute. Everything alright?”

Wilbur takes a deep breath. “Y- Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Tommy, sorry, I just… I don’t know. Sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy frowns, but the slow blink of his eyes shows Wilbur he’s probably too tired to pry.

“Alright. Can I- can I go back to sleep, Wilbur?”

He sighs, before setting a hand on Tommy’s hair. “Yeah. Go ahead, Toms. Sorry for waking you.”

Tommy just hums before flipping himself onto his side.

Wilbur forces himself to look away. He needs to go to sleep, he needs- he needs-

He needs to sleep.

Tommy is okay. Tommy is safe.

Wilbur sleeps with the red hoodie in his hands anyway.

***

_Philza shows up the next day with another mystery man. Tall as fuck, dirty brown hair and faint freckles._

_Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Dream?” He tries experimentally._

_The man doesn’t even respond. His lip quivers, and within seconds he’s strided across the room and has his arms wrapped around Tommy._

_“Whoa! Whoa, okay. Just a random fucking stranger hugging me, I guess. It’s fine. That’s fine.”_

_There’s a small chuckle that comes out of the man, and it’s enough to seal the deal for Tommy. “Shut up, Tommy.”_

_Dream withdrawals, holding Tommy awkwardly by his shoulders. “You alright? No major injuries or anything?”_

_Tommy shrugs. “Aside from my ribs and nose, I seem to be all good. Was your flight fine?”_

_Dream wrinkles his nose. “You must have hit your head or something, if you’re being civilized. Gross.”_

_“Hey! Fuck you, bitch, I can be perfectly civilized!”_

_“Aye! I was worried I had the wrong room for a second!”_

_Tommy glances behind Dream, who also turns his head. And there’s Quackity, beanie and all, smiling maniacally at Tommy._

_“Ayyye! Big Q!”_

_Wilbur comes in from behind him, blinking towards him with exasperation. “Please, Tommy, please. Tell him to go back home. I can’t deal with him.”_

_Quackity ignores Wilbur’s jab, instead walking towards Tommy and lightly hitting him on the arm. “How you feeling, Tommy?_

_“I’m getting so many drugs, Big Q, so many drugs.”_

_Quackity laughs, and Tommy laughs back even though it hurts his chest._

_It’s nice to finally see his friends in person. Even if it is because of the reason it is._

_Eventually, they all stand up, promising to return the next day so he didn’t have to sit bored in the hospital._

_“I’m glad you’re safe, Tommy. We were all worried for you,” Dream mumbles when he leans in for a light hug._

_“Yeah, yeah. What are you, my dad or something?”_

_Dream rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything to him. He moves aside and Quackity takes his place._

_“Nunca me vuelvas a asustar así, perra,” Quackity murmurs angrily._

_“Wh- Big Q, I have no clue what the fuck you just said.”_

_Quackity just sighs, standing up and ruffling Tommy’s hair. “I just called you a motherfucker, that’s all.”_

_“Wh- You bitch! How dare you! When I’m all weak and vulnerable and shit.”_

_The aching pain in his chest doesn’t compare to the smiles on his friends’ faces._

***

Wilbur only glances up when his door knob rattles. He can hear a key being inserted, before the knob is tried again and Tommy steps through.

“Hello, Tommy,” Wilbur says, and Tommy only whines as he throws himself dramatically onto a couch. He chooses to ignore the way Tommy winces. “Is there a reason you’re being extra annoying today, or did you just feel like it?”

Tommy simply whines again, slumping further into his seat.

Wilbur doesn’t say anything. Just continues to scroll through his phone, absentmindedly liking a few tweets.

“Wilbur,” Tommy groans, dragging out the ‘r’. “My family is being annoying and shit.”

Wilbur just hums. “Is it about your school project?”

“Yes! I’m getting it done, I swear it, but they won’t get off my ass about it. And now they’re having some sort of house party, so I have to do the project here instead of at my own house, in my own fucking room.”

Wilbur hums again. He’s not trying to blow Tommy off or anything, but he knows that entertaining Tommy usually ends in them joking around instead of actually getting work done.

Yet, even without Wilbur entertaining him, Tommy doesn’t get up. Simply shifts in the cushions.

Wilbur raises a brow. “Tommy? Did you actually bring the shit needed to do the project?”

Tommy’s lips turn downwards, and Wilbur can’t help the small sigh that leaves his lips. They’ll have to go to the shop, then, and pick up whatever materials Tommy needed. If Wilbur remembers correctly, it was some sort of diorama. Tommy had occasionally sent him pictures of his progress, and the project was, for the most part, done. He just needed to build a few more pieces and glue them into the box. Tommy is still silent, so Wilbur pushes himself up with a grunt, walking towards his counter to pick up his car keys-

“It’s in the car.”

Wilbur stops, for a moment, before turning towards Tommy in confusion. “What the fuck are you on about?”

Tommy isn’t looking at him. “The materials. For the project, I mean. It’s in the car. I just- I just forgot to bring it inside.”

At this, Wilbur stops completely.

“The car.”

“Y- Yeah, the car.”

The room is silent, so silent that Wilbur can hear his own heartbeat in his chest. It’s not quite suffocating, but it is thick. A weight is starting to settle on Wilbur’s chest.

“What do you mean, ‘the car’?”

Tommy shrugs uncomfortably, and Wilbur doesn’t even need to hear the rest.

“You fucking drove yourself here?”

“What?” Tommy says incredulously, as though it were insane for Wilbur to be upset over this, “I know how to drive, Wilbur, that’s what I got a license for! The cr- Last time wasn’t my fault, we both know that, even the officer said so. And it’s been a few weeks now, I’m all better and shit.”

“Tommy, you know your parents don’t want you driving. How the fuck did you even drive here, I know they didn’t give you their fucking car.”

“My, uh. My friend offered to let me drive their car.”

“Thomas Smith,” Wilbur growls, and Tommy’s face goes red.

“I’m sorry, Wilbur! My assignment is due tomorrow, and I couldn’t finish it at home, and I certainly couldn’t walk here holding all those materials, so I thought it would just be easier-”

“Why didn’t you call me.”

Tommy falters. “What?”

“Why. Didn’t. You call me.” Wilbur’s tone is low, harsh, and he’s aware of it.

Tommy drove. More than that, Tommy drove by himself. Even more than that, Tommy didn’t tell anyone he was driving by himself. Something could have happened. Something could have happened, again, and Wilbur would have once again been helpless, watching a teenage boy deteriorate right in front of him.

“I just- It’s not that big of a deal, Wilbur! The drive to your house is like, thirty minutes, and none of the roads are super dangerous or anything.”

“I don’t care, Tommy! I don’t care if my house is an hour away or five minutes away! You don’t fucking drive by yourself, and you certainly don’t drive without telling anyone, do you understand?”

“But why, Wilbur? I’m not a fucking kid, and the chances of me getting hit like that again are super fucking low.”

God, Wilbur could feel his face getting hotter. He was aware of the clench of his fist, the way his eyebrows were furrowed, but all he could see was Tommy in front of him, his stupid blond hair, the way his blue eyes are looking at him in a type of defiance, and then flashes of a hospital, of broken skin, of a red fucking hoodie-

Blond, blue, pale-

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Tommy. The chances were low of you getting hit like that the first time, too, and yet here we fucking are. I trusted you to not drive yourself around, we all trusted you-”

“Trust that I can drive good enough to not kill myself! I’m even being extra careful now!”

Blond-

“I don’t trust you to do that, Tommy! I doubt I’ll ever trust you to do that again!”

“Why not? You’re treating me like a child, Wilbur! I need to be able to do shit on my own, I shouldn’t have to rely on you and my fucking parents to take me everywhere I want to go!”

Blond, bruised, pale-

“Don’t you dare, Tommy. Don’t you dare act like you have it so fucking bad that you have willing adults in your life who will drive you to where you need to be.”

“You know that’s not what I mean, Wilbur, you’re being a bitch. It’s all okay! I’m fine!”

Blond, blue, pale, bruised, blond, blue, pale, bruised, _blond, blue, pale bruised-_

“Thomas Smith, don’t you _dare_ call me a bitch as though I didn’t wait by your bedside _every fucking day_ waiting for you to wake up! As though I didn’t think you’d be fucking asleep forever, or that I’d come in one day and you’d be fucking dead! You don’t get to say _shit!_ ” Wilbur slams his fist down on the counter next to him, and the sound almost echoes throughout the room.

It’s silent, then. The bottom of his hand stings. Tommy seems to be frozen, staring back at him with wide eyes and tense muscles.

“Get your shit out of the car, Tommy,” Wilbur finally says, breaking his gaze with Tommy and looking towards the counter instead. “Work on your project.”

Soft footsteps sound across the wooden floor and Wilbur hears the door open and close.

When the door opens again, the footsteps pass Wilbur. They keep going until they reach the stairs, and Wilbur hears Tommy climb the steps.

That’s when he allows himself to take a deep breath.

Tommy doesn’t understand. He doesn’t think Tommy will ever understand.

***

_“Wilbur,” Tommy groans, dragging each syllable out. “I’m bored.”_

_Wilbur sighs from his place on the chair. Tommy is still in the hospital, as they run multiple tests and help him get back on his feet._

_“I don’t really know how to help you, Tommy. It’s not like I can just take you out somewhere.”_

_Tommy raises an eyebrow._

_“No, Tommy, I can’t. I’d have to steal you out of here.”_

_“Why not? I think that would be quite the fun thing to do.”_

_Maybe Wilbur should be more willing to joke around, to be the light that Tommy probably needs right now, but he just. Can’t._

_Everyone else had gone out to sneak Tommy food. Some restaurant Wilbur hadn’t cared to remember, but apparently Tommy liked it._

_Tommy huffs. “Fine. If you’re going to be boring, then I’m just going to sleep until you start being funny.”_

_Tommy makes a big show of pulling the blanket up to his shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut and giving a loud sigh._

_It’s not funny._

_Wilbur almost reaches out just to hit Tommy, tell him to wake up, but…_

_Well, Tommy had been looking tired. He knew the pain medicine had been making Tommy drowsy, even if he’d been fighting off the tiredness in front of everyone._

_Sure enough, Tommy’s scrunched eyebrows eventually settle, and his breaths even out._

_Tommy looks peaceful._

_Wilbur reaches out and brushes his hair away from his forehead._

_He hesitates as he takes his hand away._

_Tommy’s eyelashes don’t even flutter. His eyes stay surely shut._

_And that’s good! Tommy needs rest. Tommy deserves rest._

_Tommy… Tommy is asleep. Like normal. How everyone sleeps._

_Yet Wilbur can’t bring himself to look away._

_Tommy’s chest rises and falls._

_And maybe… maybe… Maybe Tommy isn’t going to wake up. What if- What if he doesn’t wake up-_

_“Wilbur?”_

_Wilbur jumps, literally jumps, as Philza’s voice sounds out from behind him._

_“You alright, man?”_

_When Wilbur turns, he’s greeted by the stares of all his friends. They must have come back from food hunting._

_“Yeah, no- No, I’m fine. I’m fine.”_

_Everyone looks at each other for a moment before seemingly shrugging it off._

_“Come get food, Wilbur,” Dream calls out as they place the bag on the table._

_Wilbur nods, but doesn’t move from his spot. He turns and looks back at Tommy instead._

_“Wil,” Philza mumbles as he puts a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”_

_Wilbur can’t move. His eyes stay locked on Tommy’s closed lids._

_“He’s not gonna wake up.”_

_Philza’s hand tenses for a moment. “Excuse me?”_

_Wilbur shakes his head. Philza doesn’t understand. Tommy- Tommy’s asleep, Tommy’s not going to wake up, Tommy-_

_“He’s not gonna wake up, Phil, we can’t-” Wilbur pushes himself towards Tommy, reaching out a hand before Phil’s hand clutches his wrist._

_“Wilbur, it’s okay, he’s fine, Wil-”_

_“He’s not gonna wake up! Phil, just- let me go, what if he doesn’t wake up, he’s not- he’s not gonna wake up-”_

_“Wilbur, c’mon, stop struggling-”_

_“Tommy,” Wilbur calls out, resorting to waking Tommy up with sound, “Tommy wake up, get up-”_

_“Wilbur,” Techno rumbles, suddenly behind him. “Tommy is fine. Calm down.”_

_“No- Techno, he’s not! He’s not fine, let me get to him, just- Tommy!”_

_“Wilbur- Wilbur stop-”_

_“Philza, let go, I have to wake him up! Let me-”_

_He yelps as he’s spun around, and suddenly arms are wrapped around him._

_“Wilbur,” Techno’s voice comes next to his head. “Relax.”_

_Wilbur struggles, but Techno’s hold on him is too tight for him to escape._

_“Breathe, Wilbur. Tommy is fine. He’s just sleeping, he’s fine.”_

_“I- I can’t-” Wilbur breathes, and he’s suddenly aware of the tears streaming down his face. “Techno, I can’t-”_

_“Breathe. He’s fine. Tommy’s gonna wake up.”_

_Dream and Quackity are nice enough to pretend as though Wilbur isn’t breaking down right in front of them. Fate is kind enough to not wake Tommy up with Wilbur’s choked sobs and gasping breaths._

_When Tommy does wake up, they all act as though it never happened._

***

Wilbur knows that he’s going to have to be the mature one in this situation.

Obviously. He’s a full grown adult, and Tommy is just a teenager.

Of course Tommy wouldn’t understand how… severe the situation had been. It’s easy for him. Maybe not the pain, or the now permanent crook to his nose. But everything else.

Tommy had been upstairs for a while now. A few hours, Wilbur sees as he glances at a nearby clock.

He almost chugs a drink before he goes upstairs to Tommy. He doesn’t, though. This is a conversation that needs to be had sober, he thinks.

He’s only slightly annoyed that Tommy had decided to go into his room to work on the project instead of any of the other open rooms upstairs. The annoyance doesn’t stay for long though. The nervousness overrides almost any other thing he’s feeling.

He gently raps his knuckles against the wood of the door. There’s no response from the other side of the door, so he tries calling out, “Tommy? Can I come in?”

There’s a grunt from the other side of the door, and Wilbur considers that a yes. He takes a deep breath before opening the door.

Tommy is sitting on his floor, materials surrounding the little area he’s made for himself. The room smells the faintest bit like burning, and a quick scan of the ground shows him the hot glue gun.

Tommy doesn’t look at him. He fiddles with a piece of clay in his hands instead.

“Tommy,” Wilbur tries, and when Tommy doesn’t respond, he almost resigns himself to a very one-sided conversation about Tommy’s behavior when Tommy pipes up.

“That’s my hoodie.”

“Hm?”

Tommy nods his head towards a chair at the side of the room and Wilbur feels his face flush.

“Yeah, you left it here a few weeks ago.”

“Why do you have it?”

God, is this how this fucking conversation is gonna go? It already feels more raw than Wilbur is ready for.

He takes a steadying breath. “I’m a bit scared to give it back.”

This does cause Tommy to look up at him. “What do you mean?”

He wishes it didn’t smell like burning. He wishes he was anywhere but in his room with Tommy’s red hoodie and Tommy himself.

“After… After the accident, it was the only thing I had of you. I kept thinking about how if you… You know. The only thing I would have left was the hoodie. I guess there’s a part of me afraid something like that is gonna happen again. And if it does, I just. I don’t want to be left with nothing.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything to this. Just looks back towards his own hands.

“I was only asleep for a week.”

“I thought you would die every day of that week.”

There’s another round of tense silence. Wilbur sits at the edge of his bed, so neither him nor Tommy are looking at each other.

“You crashing was the scariest thing that ever happened to me,” Wilbur says once it’s clear Tommy wasn’t going to say anything else. “I never want a phone call like that again. We didn’t even know if you were alive, Tommy. And then you were alive, and it was all I ever wanted, but then… Then it wasn’t. Because then we didn’t know if you would ever wake up. Or if you would even stay alive while asleep. I couldn’t sleep, Tommy, I could never fucking sleep. I was too afraid that something would happen to you, and I’d be sleeping through it all.”

“I was fine, though.”

“We didn’t know that. None of us could have known.”

It was silent again.

“What if you had died, Toms?” Wilbur asks, and he almost despises the way his voice strains. “What if you had never woken up?” He rubs his hand against his nose. “I can’t stand to see you sleep. Not in a weird way, but just- it feels like you’ll never wake up. Like I’ll shake you, and your eyes will stay closed, and it’ll be just like back then. And I’ll be helpless.”

“... I’m sorry.”

Wilbur fiddles with the blankets. Feels the fabric between his fingers. Tommy is still sat on the ground, and Wilbur can’t hear what he’s doing.

“I don’t like the thought of you driving, Tommy. And I know, I know I’m going to have to… let that fear go, sometime. You’re not a kid. And I know a big part of the ‘teenage experience’ is going off on your own, and we can’t keep you away from that forever. I just…”

“I know,” Tommy finally speaks up, and Wilbur already knows that tone of voice. He’s crying. “I didn’t… It just doesn’t… Feel real? I guess? It just sort of felt like I was asleep. I didn’t mean to-” Tommy waves his hand around vaguely. “You know.”

There’s the sound of sniffling coming from the ground, and Wilbur’s instincts finally kick in. He gently places himself from the bed onto the floor, wrapping an arm around Tommy.

“It’s not your fault, Toms, I’m sorry.”

Tommy brings up his hands to wipe at his face before leaning into Wilbur.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, Wil, I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright. It’s alright, Toms.”

It’s a weird state around them. The air still feels thick, but all Wilbur can really do is hold Tommy to his chest.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Tommy.”

Tommy eventually pushes himself up though, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I, uh- I think I’m gonna go home. I can call my parents, they’ll pick me up. I’m just… I’m just really tired.” Tommy winces as he says the last sentence. It makes Wilbur feel tired himself.

Wilbur sighs. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

“Yeah. They think I walked here, though.”

Wilbur gets up on shaky knees. “Just sleep here, Toms. It’s alright.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. “No, no, it’s alright. I can go home, Wilbur, I should probably go home anyways-”

“Tommy. It’s okay.” He walks towards him and gently rests a hand in his hair. “I’ll be fine, I promise. You can even sleep on the bed, alright?”

And like many times before this, Tommy’s tiredness must have won out, because Tommy hesitantly sits on the edge of Wilbur’s bed.

“I’ll call your parents, Tommy. Don’t worry about it.”

Tommy just hums, and Wilbur resigns himself to that being the end of their conversation. Tommy was still on pain meds, so he was probably already tired, and he can’t imagine crying helped that any.

He switches off the light, opening the door a crack so he could slip out, when he hears Tommy speak up from the bed.

“I promise I’ll wake up tomorrow.”

It’s a promise that shouldn’t have to be made, but even hearing the words uttered from Tommy’s mouth sets Wilbur a little bit at ease.

“I know, Tommy. I know.”

That night, for the first time since Tommy entered the hospital and for the first time since Tommy got out, Wilbur sleeps too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Quackity said in Spanish: "Never scare me like that again, Bitch."
> 
> I'm going to be honest with y'all, I....... do not know if this is a good chapter. But I am so very tired, and have been working on this for a few hours straight late at night so I am hoping for the best. Lemme know how this one feels! I know a few of you wanted a bit of what happened after Tommy woke up at the hospital, I hope this satisfies y'all. I know I didn't spend too long focusing on Techno or Dream or Quackity, but I didn't want to take too much away from the Wilbur and Tommy dynamic.
> 
> Alrighty y'all, I am posting this and immediately going to bed B-) Catch y'all on the flipside

**Author's Note:**

> If you have anything you want to see, comment it! I can't promise I'll do it, but if it seems like a good idea I'll do my best!


End file.
